CHOPIN. 


"  So  works  this  rausic  upon  earth  ! 
God  so  admits  it,  sends  it  forth, 
To  add  another  worth  to  worth — 

A  new  creation-bloom  that  rounds 
The  old  creation,  and  expounds 
His  Beautiful  in  tuneful  sounds." 


/s 


LIEE  OF  CHOPIN 

BY 

F.  LISZT. 


TRANSLATED    ï^ROM    THE  FRENCH 


BT 

MARTHA  WALKER  COOK. 


"  He  was  a  mighty  Poet — and 
A  subtle  souled  Psychologist." 


SECOND  REVISED  EDITION. 


PHILADELPHIA:    F.  LEYPOLDT. 
New  York  :  F.  "W.  Cieribtern. 
1863. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1S63,  by 
F.  LEYPOLDT, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States, 
in  and  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


PRINTED  Br  KING  it  BAIRD. 


CONTENTS. 


FAQB 


Dedication   5 

Fbeface   7 

CHAPTER  I. 

Chopin — Style  and  Improvements — The  Adagio  of  the 
Second  Concerto — Funeral  March — Psychological  Cha- 
racter of  the  Compositions  of  Chopin   15 

CHAPTER  IL 

National  Character  of  the  Polonaise — Oginsky — Meyse- 
der — Weber — Chopin — His  Polonaise  in  F  Sharp, 
Minor — Polonaise  Fantaisie   31 

CHAPTER  III. 

Chopin's  Mazourkas  —  Polish  Ladies  —  Mazourka  in 
Poland— Tortured  Motives-EarlyLife of  Chopin— Zal.  58 

CHAPTER  IV. 


Chopin's  Mode  of  Playing — Concerts — The  Elite — Fading 
Bouquets  and  Immortal  Crowns — Hospitality — Heine 
— Meyerbeer — Adolphe  Nourrit — Eugène  Delacroix — 

Niemoevicz — Mickiewicz — George  Sand   81 

3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

PAGE 

The  Lives  of  Artists — Pure  Fame  of  Chopin — Reserve — 
Classic  and  Romautic  Art — Language  of  the  Sclaves — 
Chopin's  love  of  Home — Memories   103 

CHAPTER  VL 

Birth  and  Early  Life  of  Chopin — National  Artists — 
Chopin  resumes  in  Himself  the  Poetic  Sense  of  his 
whole  Nation — Opinion  of  Beethoven   135 

CHAPTER  VIL 

Madame  Sand — Lelia — Visit  to  Majorca  —  Exclusive 
Ideals   160 

CHAPTER  VIIL 

Disappointment — 111  Health — Visit  to  England — Devo- 
tion of  Friends — Last  Sacraments — Delphine  Potocka 
— Louise — M.  Gutman — Death   ISO 


Without  your  consent  or  knowledge,  I  have 
ventured  to  dedicate  this  translation  to  you  ! 

As  the  countryman  of  Chopin,  and  filled  with  the 
same  earnest  patriotism  which  distinguished  him  ;  as 
an  impassioned  and  perfect  Pianist,  capable  of  repro- 
ducing his  difficult  compositions  in  all  the  subtle 
tenderness,  fire,  energy,  melancholy,  despair,  caprice, 
hope,  delicacy  and  startling  vigor  which  they  imperi- 
ously exact  ;  as  thorough  master  of  the  complicated 
instrument  to  which  he  devoted  his  best  powers;  as 
an  erudite  and  experienced  possessor  of  that  abstruse 
and  difficult  science,  music  ;  as  a  composer  of  true, 
deep,  and  highly  original  genius, — this  dedication  is 
justly  made  to  you  ! 

Even  though  I  may  have  wounded  your  character- 
istically haughty,  shrinking,  and  Sclavic  susceptibili- 

5 


6 


DEDICATION. 


ties  in  rendering  so  public  a  tribute  to  jour  artistic 
skill,  forgive  me  !  The  high  moral  worth  and  manly 
rectitude  which  distinguish  you,  and  which  alone 
render  even  the  most  sublime  genius  truly  illustrious 
in  the  eyes  of.  woman,  almost  force  these  inadequate 
and  imperfect  words  from  the  heart  of  the  translator. 

M.  w.  c. 


P  E  E  F  A  0  E. 


To  a  people,  always  prompt  in  its  recognition  of 
genius,  and  ready  to  sympathise  in  the  joys  and  woes 
of  a  truly  great  artist,  this  work  will  be  one  of  ex- 
ceeding interest.  It  is  a  short,  glowing,  and  generous 
sketch,  from  the  hand  of  Franz  Liszt,  (who,  con- 
sidered in  the  double  light  of  composer  and  performer, 
has  no  living  equal,)  of  the  original  and  romantic 
Chopin  ;  the  most  ethereal,  subtle,  and  delicate  among 
our  modern  tone-poets.  It  is  a  rare  thing  for  a  great 
artist  to  write  on  art,  to  leave  the  passionate  worlds 
of  sounds  or  colors  for  the  colder  realm  of  words  ; 
rarer  still  for  him  to  abdicate,  even  temporarily,  his 
own  throne,  to  stand  patiently  and  hold  aloft  the 
blazing  torch  of  his  own  genius,  to  illume  the  gloomy 
grave  of  another  :  yet  this  has  Liszt  done  through 
love  for  Chopin. 

It  is  a  matter  of  considerable  interest  to  note  how 
the  nervous  and  agile  fingers,  accustomed  to  sovereign 
rule  over  the  keys,  handle  the  pen  ;  how  the  musician 
feels  as  a  man  ;  how  he  estimates  art  and  artists. 

7 


8  PREFACE. 

Liszt  is  a  man  of  extensive  culture,  vivid  imagina- 
tion, and  great  knowledge  of  the  world  ;  and,  in  ad- 
dition to  their  high  artistic  value,  his  lines  glow  with 
poetic  fervor,  with  impassioned  eloquence.  His  mu- 
sical criticisms  are  refined  and  acute,  but  without  re- 
pulsive technicalities  or  scientific  terms,  ever  spark- 
ling with  the  poetic  ardor  of  the  generous  soul  through 
which  the  discriminating,  yet  appreciative  awards 
were  poured.  Ah  !  in  these  days  of  degenerate 
rivalries  and  bitter  jealousies,  let  us  welcome  a  proof 
of  afi'ection  so  tender  as  his  ''  Life  of  Chopin"  ! 

It  would  be  impossible  for  the  reader  of  this  book 
to  remain  ignorant  of  the  exactions  of  art.  "While, 
through  its  eloquence  and  subtle  analysis  of  character, 
it  appeals  to  the  cultivated  literary  tastes  of  our 
people,  it  opens  for  them  a  dazzling  perspective  into 
that  strange  world  of  tones,  of  whose  magical  realm 
they  know,  comparatively  speaking,  so  little.  It  is 
intelligible  to  all  who  think  or  feel;  requiring  no 
knowledge  of  music  for  its  comprehension. 

The  compositions  of  Chopin  are  now  the  mode,  the 
rage.  Every  one  asks  for  them,  every  one  tries  to 
play  them.  We  have,  however,  but  few  remarks  upon 
the  peculiarities  of  his  style,  or  the  proper  manner  of 
producing  his  works.  His  compositions,  generally 
perfect  in  form,  are  never  abstract  conceptions,  but 


PREFACE.  9 

had  their  birth  in  his  soul,  sprang  from  the  events 
of  his  life,  and  are  full  of  individual  and  national 
idiosyncracies,  of  psychological  interest.  Liszt  knew 
Chopin  both  as  man  and  artist  ;  Chopin  loved  to 
hear  him  interpret  his  music,  and  himself  taught 
the  great  Pianist  the  mysteries  of  his  undulating 
rhythm  and  original  motifs.  The  broad  and  noble 
criticisms  contained  in  this  book  are  absolutely 
essential  for  the  musical  culture  of  the  thousands  now 
laboriously,  but  vainly  struggling  to  perform  his 
elaborate  works,  and  who,  having  no  key  to  their 
multiplied  complexities  of  expression,  frequently  fail 
in  rendering  them  aright. 

And  the  masses  in  this  country,  full  of  vivid  per- 
ception and  intelligent  curiosity,  who,  not  playing 
themselves,  would  yet  fain  follow  with  the  heart  com- 
positions which  they  are  told  are  of  so  much  artistic 
value,  will  here  find  a  key  to  guide  them  through  the 
tuneful  labyrinth.  Some  of  Chopin's  best  works  are 
analyzed  herein.  He  wrote  for  the  heart  of  his 
people;  their  joys,  sorrows,  and  caprices  are  immor- 
talized by  the  power  of  his  art.  He  was  a  strictly 
national  tone-poet,  and  to  understand  him  fully, 
something  must  be  known  of  the  brave  and  haughty, 
but  unhappy  country  which  he  so  loved.  Liszt  felt 
this,  and  has  been  exceedingly  happy  in  the  short 


10  PREFACE. 

sketcli  given  of  Poland.  "We  actually  know  more  of 
its  picturesque  and  characteristic  customs  after  a 
perusal  of  his  graphic  pages,  than  after  a  long  course 
of  dry  historical  details.  His  remarks  on  the  Polon- 
aise and  Mazourka  are  full  of  the  philosophy  and 
essence  of  history.  These  dances  grew  directly  from 
the  heart  of  the  Polish  people  ;  repeating  the  martial 
valor  and  haughty  love  of  noble  exhibition  of  their 
men  ;  the  tenderness,  devotion,  and  subtle  coquetry 
of  their  women — they  were  of  course  favorite  forms 
with  Chopin;  their  national  character  made  them 
dear  to  the  national  poet.  The  remarks  of  Liszt  on 
these  dances  are  given  with  a  knowledge  so  acute  of 
the  traits  of  the  nation  in  which  they  originated,  with 
such  a  gorgeousness  of  description  and  correctness 
of  detail,  that  they  rather  resemble  a  highly  finished 
picture,  than  a  colder  work  of  words  only.  They 
have  all  the  splendor  of  a  brilliant  painting.  He 
seizes  the  secrets  of  the  nationality  of  these  forms, 
traces  them  through  the  heart  of  the  Polish  people, 
follows  them  through  their  marvelous  transfiguration 
in  the  pages  of  the  Polish  artist,  and  reads  by  their 
light  much  of  the  sensitive  and  exclusive  character 
of  Chopin,  analyzing  it  with  the  skill  of  love,  while 
depicting  it  with  romantic  eloquence. 
To  those  who  can  produce  the  compositions  of 


PREFACE. 


11 


Chopin  in  the  spirit  of  their  author,  no  words  are 
necessary.  They  follow  with  the  heart  the  poetic  and 
palpitating  emotions  so  exquisitely  wrought  through 
the  aerial  tissue  of  the  tones  by  this  "  subtle-souled 
Psychologist,"  this  bold  and  original  explorer  in  the 
invisible  world  of  sound  ; — all  honor  to  their  genius  ! 

'       "Oh,  happy!  and  of  many  millions,  they 

The  purest  chosen,  whom  Art's  service  pure 

Hallows  and  claims — whose  hearts  are  made  her  throne, 

Whose  lips  her  oracle,  ordained  secure. 

To  lead  a  priestly  life,  and  feed  the  ray 

Of  her  eternal  shrine,  to  them  alone 

Her  glorious  countenance  unveiled  is  shown: 

Ye,  the  high  brotherhood  she  links,  rejoice 

In  the  great  rank  allotted  by  her  choice  ! 

The  loftiest  rank  the  spiritual  world  sublime, 

Eich  with  its  starry  thrones,  gives  to  the  sons  of  Time  !" 

Schiller. 

Short  but  glowing  sketches  of  Heine,  Meyerbeer, 

A^dolphe  Nourrit,  Hiller,  Eugène  Delacroix,  Niemce- 

vicz,  Mickiewicz,  and  Madame  Sand,  occur  in  the 

book.    The  description  of  the  last  days  of  poor 

Chopin's  melancholy  life,  with  the  untiriùg  devotion 

of  those  around  him,  including  the  beautiful  countess, 

Delphine  Potocka  ;  his  cherished  sister,  Louise  ;  his 

devoted  friend  and  pupil,  M.  Gutman,  with  the  great 

Liszt  himself,  is  full  of  tragic  interest. 
2 


12  PREFACE. 

No  pains  have  been  spared  by  the  translator  to 
make  the  translation  acceptable,  for  the  task  was 
truly  a  labor  of  love.  No  motives  of  interest  induced 
the  lingering  over  the  careful  rendering  of  the  charmed 
pages,  but  an  intense  desire  that  our  people  should 
know  more  of  musical  art  ;  that  while  acknowledging 
the  generosity  and  eloquence  of  Liszt,  they  should 
learn  to  appreciate  and  love  the  more  subtle  fire,  the 
more  creative  genius  of  the  unfortunate,  but  honorable 
and  honored  artist,  Chopin. 

Perchance  Liszt  may  yet  visit  us  ;  we  may  yet  hear 
the  matchless  Pianist  call  from  their  graves  in  the 
white  keys,  the  delicate  arabesques,  the  undulating 
and  varied  melodies,  of  Chopin.  We  should  be  pre- 
pared to  appreciate  the  great  Artist  in  his  enthusi- 
astic rendering  of  the  master-pieces  of  the  man  he 
loved  ;  prepared  to  greet  him  when  he  electrifies 
us  with  his  wonderful  Cyclopean  harmonies,  written 
for  his  own  Herculean  grasp,  sparkling  with  his  own 
Promethean  fire,  which  no  meaner  hand  can  ever  hope 
to  master  !  "  Hear  Liszt  and  die,"  has  been  said  by 
some  of  his  enthusiastic  admirers — understand  him 
and  live,  were  the  wiser  advice  ! 

In  gratitude  then  to  Chopin  for  the  multiplied 
sources  of  high  and  pure  pleasure  which  he  has 
revealed  to  humanity  in  his  creations,  that  human 


PREFACE.  13 

woe  and  sorrow  become  pure  beauty  when  his  magic 
spell  is  on  them,  the  translator  calls  upon  all  lovers 
of  the  beautiful  "  to  contribute  a  stone  to  the  pyra- 
mid now  rapidly  erecting  in  honor  of  the  great 
modern  composer" — aye,  the  living  stone  of  apprecia- 
tion, chrystalized  in  the  enlightened  gratitude  of  the 
heart. 


CHOPIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Chopin — Style  and  Improvements — The  Adagio  of  the  Second 
Concerto — Funeral  March— Psychological  Character  of  the  Com- 
positions of  Chopin,  &c,,  &c. 

Deeply  regretted  as  he  may  be  by  the  whole  body 
of  artists,  lamented  by  all  who  have  ever  known  him, 
we  must  still  be  permitted  to  doubt  if  the  time  has 
even  yet  arrived  in  which  he,  whose  loss  is  so  pecu- 
liarly deplored  by  ourselves,  can  be  appreciated  in 
accordance  with  his  just  value,  or  occupy  that  high 
rank  which  in  all  probability  will  be  assigned  him  in 
the  future. 

If  it  has  been  often  proved  that  "no  one  is  a  pro- 
phet in  his  own  country  ;"  is  it  not  equally  true  that 
the  prophets,  the  men  of  the  future,  who  feel  its  life 
in  advance,  and  prefigure  it  in  their  works,  are  never 
recognized  as  prophets  in  their  own  times?  It 
would  be  presumptuous  to  assert  that  it  can  ever  be 
otherwise.  In  vain  may  the  young  generations  of 
artists  protest  against  the  "Anti-progressives,"  whose 
invariable  custom  it  is  to  assault  and  beat  down  the 
living  with  the  dead  :  time  alone  can  test  the  real 
value,  or  reveal  the  hidden  beauties,  either  of  musical 
compositions,  or  of  kindred  efforts  in  the  sister  arts. 

15 


16 


CHOPIN. 


As  the  manifold  forms  of  art  are  but  dififerent  in- 
cantations, charged  with  electricity  from  the  soul  of 
the  artist,  and  destined  to  evoke  the  latent  emotions 
and  passions  in  order  to  render  them  sensible,  intelli- 
gible, and,  in  some  degree,  tangible  ;  so  genius  may- 
be manifested  in  the  invention  of  new  forms,  adapted, 
it  may  be,  to  the  expression  of  feelings  which  have 
not  yet  surged  within  the  limits  of  common  experi- 
ence, and  are  indeed  first  evoked  within  the  magic 
circle  by  the  creative  power  of  artistic  intuition.  In 
arts  in  which  sensation  is  linked  to  emotion,  without 
the  intermediate  assistance  of  thought  and  reflection, 
the  mere  introduction  of  unaccustomed  forms,  of  un- 
used modes,  must  present  an  obstacle  to  the  imme- 
diate comprehension  of  any  very  original  composition. 
The  surprise,  nay,  the  fatigue,  caused  by  the  novelty 
of  the  singular  impressions  which  it  awakens,  will 
make  it  appear  to  many  as  if  written  in  a  language 
of  which  they  were  ignorant,  and  which  that  rea- 
son will  in  itself  be  sufficient  to  induce  them  to 
pronounce  a  barbarous  dialect.  The  trouble  of 
accustoming  the  ear  to  it  will  repel  many  who  will, 
in  consequence,  refuse  to  make  a  study  of  it.  Through 
the  more  vivid  and  youthful  organizations,  less  en- 
thralled by  the  chains  of  habit  ;  through  the  more 
ardent  spirits,  won  first  by  curiosity,  then  filled  with 
passion  for  the  new  idiom,  must  it  penetrate  and  win 
the  resisting  and  opposing  public,  which  will  finally 
catch  the  meaning,  the  aim,  the  construction,  and  at 
last  render  justice  to  its  qualities,  and  acknowledge 
whatever  beauty  it  may  contain.    Musicians  wlio  do 


C  H  o  r  I  N. 


17 


not  restrict  themselves  within  the  limits  of  conven- 
tional routine,  have,  consequently,  more  need  than 
other  artists  of  the  aid  of  time.  They  cannot  hope 
that  death  will  bring  that  instantaneous  plus-value  to 
their  works  which  it  gives  to  those  of  the  painters. 
No  musician  could  renew,  to  the  profit  of  his  manu- 
scripts, the  deception  practiced  by  one  of  the  great 
Flemish  painters,  who,  wishing  in  his  lifetime  to 
benefit  by  his  future  glory,  directed  his  wife  to  spread 
abroad  the  news  of  his  death,  in  order  that  the  pic- 
tures with  which  he  had  taken  care  to  cover  the  walls 
of  his  studio,  might  suddenly  increase  in  value  ! 

Whatever  may  be  the  present  popularity  of  any 
part  of  the  productions  of  one,  broken  by  suffering 
long  before  taken  by  death,  it  is  nevertheless  to  be 
presumed  that  posterity  will  award  to  his  works  an 
estimation  of  a  far  higher  character,  of  a  much  more 
earnest  nature,  than  has  hitherto  been  awarded 
them.  A  high  rant  must  be  assigned  by  the  future 
historians  of  music  to  one  who  distinguished  himself 
in  art  by  a  genius  for  melody  so  rare,  by  such  grace- 
ful and  remarkable  enlargements  of  the  harmonic 
tissue  ;  and  his  triumph  will  be  justly  preferred  to 
many  of  far  more  extended  surface,  though  the  works 
of  such  victors  may  be  played  and  replayed  by  the 
greatest  number  of  instruments,  and  be  sung  and  re- 
sung  by  passing  crowds  of  Prime  Donne. 

Tn  confining  himself  exclusively  to  the  Piano, 
Chopin  has,  in  our  opinion,  given  proof  of  one  of 
the  most  essential  qualities  of  a  composer— a  just 
fipprociation  of  the  form  in  which  he  possessed  the 


18 


c  n  0  p  I X. 


power  to  excel;  yet  this  very  fact,  to  which  we 
attach  so  much  importance,  has  been  injurious  to  the 
extent  of  his  fame.  It  would  have  been  most  diflS- 
cult  for  any  other  writer,  gifted  with  such  high  har- 
monic and  melodic  powers,  to  have  resisted  the 
temptation  of  the  singing  of  the  bow,  the  liquid 
sweetness  of  the  flute,  or  the  deafening  swells  of  the 
trumpet,  which  we  still  persist  in  believing  the  only 
fore-runner  of  the  antique  goddess  from  whom  wo 
woo  the  sudden  favors.  "What  strong  conviction, 
based  upon  reflection,  must  have  been  requisite  to 
have  induced  him  to  restrict  himself  to  a  circle 
apparently  so  much  more  barren  ;  what  warmth  of 
creative  genius  must  have  been  necessary  to  have 
forced  from  its  apparent  aridity  a  fresh  growth  of 
luxuriant  bloom,  unhoped-for  in  such  a  soil  !  "What 
intuitive  penetration  is  revealed  by  this  exclusive 
choice,  wliich,  wresting  the  difierent  efiects  of  the 
various  instruments  from  their  habitual  domain, 
where  the  whole  foam  of  sound  would  have  broken 
at  their  feet,  transported  them  into  a  sphere,  more 
limited,  indeed,  but  far  more  idealized  !  What  confi- 
dent perception  of  the  future  powers  of  his  instru- 
ment must  have  presided  over  his  voluntary  renun- 
ciation of  an  empiricism,  so  widely  spread,  that  another 
would  have  thought  it  a  mistake,  a  folly,  to  have 
wrested  such  great  thoughts  from  their  ordinary  in- 
terpreters !  How  sincerely  should  we  revere  him  for 
this  devotion  to  the  Beautiful  for  its  own  sake,  which 
induced  him  not  to  yield  to  the  general  propensity  to 
scatter  each  light  spray  of  melody  over  a  hundred 


CHOPIN. 


19 


orchestral  desks,  and  enabled  him  to  augment  the 
resources  of  art,  in  teaching  how  they  may  be  con- 
centrated in  a  more  limited  space,  elaborated  at  less 
expense  of  means,  and  condensed  in  time! 

Far  from  being  ambitious  of  the  uproar  of  an  or- 
chestra, Chopin  was  satisfied  to  see  his  thought  in- 
tegrally produced  upon  the  ivory  of  the  key-board  ; 
succeeding  in  his  aim  of  losing  nothing  in  power, 
Avitliout  pretending  to  orchestral  efifects,  or  to  the 
brush  of  the  scene-painter.  Oh!  we  have  not  yet 
studied  with  sufficient  earnestness  and  attention  the 
designs  of  his  delicate  pencil,  habituated  as  we  are,  in 
these  days,  to  consider  only  those  composers  worthy 
of  a  great  name,  who  have  written  at  least  half-a- 
dozen  Operas,  as  many  Oratorios,  and  various  Sym- 
phonies :  vainly  requiring  every  musician  to  do  every 
thing,  nay,  a  little  more  than  every  thing.  However 
widely  diffused  this  idea  may  be,  its  justice  is,  to  say 
the  least,  highly  problematical.  We  are  far  from 
contesting  the  glory  more  difficult  of  attainment,  or 
the  real  superiority  of  the  Epic  poets,  who  display 
their  splendid  creations  upon  so  large  a  plan  ;  but 
we  desire  that  material  proportion  in  music  should  be 
estimated  by  the  same  measure  which  is  applied  to 
dimension  in  other  branches  of  the  fine  arts  ;  as,  for 
example,  in  painting,  where  a  canvas  of  twenty  inches 
square,  as  the  Vision  of  Ezekiel,  or  Le  Cimetière 
by  Ruysdaël,  is  placed  among  the  chefs  d'œuvre, 
and  is  more  highly  valued  than  pictures  of  a  far 
larger  size,  even  though  they  might  be  from  the  hands 
of  a  Rubens  or  a  Tiutoret.    In  litcraturCj  is  Beran- 


20 


CHOPIN. 


ger  less  a  great  poet,  because  he  has  condensed  his 
thoughts  within  the  narrow  limits  of  his  songs  ? 
Does  not  Petrarch  owe  his  fame  to  his  Sonnets  ? 
and  among  those  who  most  frequently  repeat  their 
soothing  rhymes,  how  many  know  any  thing  of  the 
xistence  of  his  long  poem  on  Africa  ?  We  cannot 
doubt  that  the  prejudice  which  would  deny  the  supe- 
riority of  an  artist — though  he  should  have  produced 
nothing  but  such  Sonatas  as  Franz  Schubert  has 
given  us — over  one  who  has  portioned  out  the  insipid 
melodies  of  many  Operas,  which  it  were  useless  to 
cite,  will  disappear  ;  and  that  in  music,  also,  we  will 
yet  take  into  account  the  eloquence  and  ability  with 
which  the  thoughts  and  feelings  are  expressed,  what- 
ever may  be  the  size  of  the  composition  in  which 
they  are  developed,  or  the  means  employed  to  inter- 
pret them. 

In  making  an  analysis  of  the  works  of  Chopin,  we 
meet  with  beauties  of  a  high  order,  expressions  en- 
tirely new,  and  a  harmonic  tissue  as  original  as  eru- 
dite. In  his  compositions,  boldness  is  always  justi- 
fied ;  richness,  even  exuberance,  never  interferes  with 
clearness  ;  singularity  never  degenerates  into  uncouth 
fantasticalness  ;  the  sculpturing  is  never  disorderly  ; 
the  luxury  of  ornament  never  overloads  the  chaste 
eloquence  of  the  principal  lines.  His  best  works 
abound  in  combinations  which  may  be  said  to  form 
an  epoch  in  the  handling  of  musical  style.  Daring, 
brilliant  and  attractive,  they  disguise  their  profundity 
under  so  much  grace,  their  science  under  so  many 
charms,  that  it  is  with  difiSculty  we  free  ourselves 


CHOPIN. 


21 


sufficiently  from  their  magical  enthrallment,  to  judge 
coldly  of  their  theoretical  value.  Their  worth  has, 
however,  already  been  felt;  but  it  will  be  more 
highly  estimated  when  the  time  arrives  for  a  critical 
examination  of  the  services  rendered  by  them  to  art 
during  that  period  of  its  course  traversed  by  Chopin. 

It  is  to  him  we  owe  the  extension  of  chords,  struck 
together  in  arpeggio,  or  en  laiterie  ;  the  chromatic 
sinuosities  of  which  his  pages  offer  such  striking 
examples  ;  the  little  groups  of  superadded  notes, 
falling  like  light  drops  of  pearly  dew  upon  the  me- 
lodic figure.  This  species  of  adornment  had  hitherto 
been  modeled  only  upon  the  Fioritures  of  the  great 
Old  School  of  Italian  song  ;  the  embellishments  for 
the  voice  had  been  servilely  copied  by  the  Piano, 
although  become  stereotyped  and  monotonous  :  he 
imparted  to  them  the  charm  of  novelty,  surprise  and 
variety,  unsuited  for  the  vocalist,  but  in  perfect  keep- 
ing with  the  character  of  the  instrument.  lie  in- 
vented the  admirable  harmonic  progressions  which 
have  given  a  serious  character  to  pages,  which,  in 
consequence  of  the  lightness  of  their  subject,  made 
no  pretension  to  any  importance.  But  of  what  conse- 
quence is  the  subject?  Is  it  not  the  idea  which  is 
developed  through  it,  the  emotion  with  which  it  vi- 
brates, which  expands,  elevates  and  ennobles  it? 
What  tender  melancholy,  what  subtlety,  what  saga- 
city in  the  master-pieces  of  La  Fontaine,  although 
the  subjects  are  so  familiar,  the  titles  so  modest  ! 
Equally  unassuming  are  the  titles  and  subjects  of 
the  Studies  and  Preludes;  yet  the  compositions  of 


22  CHOPIN. 

Chopin,  so  modestly  named,  are  not  the  less  types  of 
perfection  in  a  mode  created  by  himself,  and  stamped, 
like  all  his  other  works,  with  the  high  impress  of  his 
poetic  genius.  Written  in  the  commencement  of  his 
career,  they  are  characterized  by  a  youthful  vigor 
not  to  be  found  in  some  of  his  subsequent  works, 
even  when  more  elaborate,  finished,  and  richer  in 
combinations  ;  a  vigor,  which  is  entirely  lost  in  his 
latest  productions,  marked  by  an  over-excited  sensi- 
bility, a  morbid  irritability,  and  giving  painful  intima- 
tions of  his  own  state  of  suffering  and  exhaustion. 

If  it  were  our  intention  to  discuss  the  develop- 
ment of  Piano  music  in  the  language  of  the  Schools, 
we  would  dissect  his  magnificent  pages,  which  afford 
so  rich  a  field  for  scientific  observation.  We  would, 
in  the  first  place,  analyze  his  Nocturnes,  Ballades, 
Impromptus,  Scherzos,  which  are  full  of  refinements 
of  harmony  never  heard  before  ;  bold,  and  of  startling 
originality.  We  would  also  examine  his  Polonaises, 
Mazourkas,  Waltzes  and  Boleros.  But  this  is  not 
the  time  or  place  for  such  a  study,  which  would  be 
interesting  only  to  the  adepts  in  Counterpoint  and 
Thoroughbass, 

It  is  the  feeling  which  overflows  in  all  his  works, 
which  has  rendered  them  known  and  popular  ;  feel- 
ing of  a  character  eminently  romantic,  subjective, 
individual,  peculiar  to  their  author,  yet  awakening  im- 
mediate sympathy  ;  appealing  not  alone  to  the  heart 
of  that  country  indebted  to  him  for  yet  one  glory 
more,  but  to  all  who  can  be  touched  by  the  misfor- 
tunes of  exile,  or  moved  by  the  tenderness  of  love. 


C  U  0  P  I  N. 


23 


Not  content  with  success  in  the  field  in  which  he 
was  free  to  design,  with  such  perfect  grace,  the  con- 
tours chosen  by  himself,  Chopin  also  wished  to  fetter 
his  ideal  thoughts  with  classic  chains.  His  Concertos 
and  Sonatas  are  beautiful  indeed,  but  we  may  discern 
in  them  more  effort  than  inspiration.  His  creative 
genius  was  imperious,  fantastic  and  impulsive.  His 
beauties  were  only  manifested  fully  in  entire  freedom. 
We  believe  he  offered  violence  to  the  character  of 
his  genius  whenever  he  sought  to  subject  it  to  rules, 
to  classifications,  to  regulations  not  his  own,  and 
which  he  could  not  force  into  harmony  with  the 
exactions  of  his  own  mind.  He  was  one  of  those 
original  beings,  whose  graces  are  only  fully  displayed 
when  they  have  cut  themselves  adrift  from  all  bondage, 
and  float  on  at  their  own  wild  will,  swayed  only  by  the 
ever  undulating  impulses  of  their  own  mobile  natures. 

He  was,  perhaps,  induced  to  desire  this  double 
success  through  the  example  of  his  friend,  Mickie- 
wicz,  who,  having  been  the  first  to  gift  his  country 
with  romantic  poetry,  forming  a  school  in  Sclavic 
literature  by  the  publication  of  his  Dziady  and  his 
romantic  Ballads,  as  early  as  1818,  proved  afterwards, 
by  the  publication  of  his  Grazyna  and  Wallenrod, 
that  he  could  triumph  over  the  difficulties  that 
classic  restrictions  oppose  to  inspiration,  and  that, 
when  holding  the  classic  lyre  of  the  ancient  poets,  he 
was  still  master.  In  making  analogous  attempts, 
we  do  not  think  Chopin  has  been  equally  successful. 
He  could  not  retain,  within  the  square  of  an  angular 
and  rigid  mould,  that  floating  and  indeterminate  con- 
3  ■ 


24 


C  U  O  P  I  X. 


tour  which  so  fascinates  us  in  his  graceful  concep- 
tions. He  could  not  introduce  in  its  unyielding  lines 
that  shadowy  and  sketchy  indecision,  which,  disguis- 
ing the  skeleton,  the  whole  frame-work  of  form,  drapes 
it  in  the  mist  of  floating  vapors,  such  as  surround  the 
white-bosomed  maids  of  Ossian,  when  they  permit 
mortals  to  catch  some  vague,  yet  lovely  outline, 
from  their  home  in  the  changing,  drifting,  blinding 
clouds. 

Some  of  these  efforts,  however,  are  resplendent 
with  a  rare  dignity  of  style  ;  and  passages  of  exceed- 
ing interest,  of  surprising  grandeur,  may  be  found 
among  them.  As  an  example  of  this,  we  cite  the 
Adagio  of  the  Second  Concerto,  for  which  he  evinced 
a  decided  preference,  and  which  he  liked  to  repeat 
frequently.  The  accessory  designs  are  in  his  best 
manner,  while  the  principal  phrase  is  of  an  admirable 
breadth.  It  alternates  with  a  Recitative,  which 
assumes  a  minor  key,  and  which  seems  to  be  its  An- 
tistrophe.  The  whole  of  this  piece  is  of  a  perfection 
almost  ideal  ;  its  expression,  now  radiant  with  light, 
now  full  of  tender  pathos.  It  seems  as  if  one  had 
chosen  a  happy  vale  of  Tempé,  a  magnificent  land- 
scape flooded  with  summer  glow  and  lustre,  as  a 
background  for  the  rehearsal  of  some  dire  scene  of 
mortal  anguish.  A  bitter  and  irreparable  regret 
seizes  the  wildly-throbbing  human  heart,  even  in  the 
midst  of  the  incomparable  splendor  of  external  na- 
ture. This  contrast  is  sustained  by  a  fusion  of  tones, 
a  softening  of  gloomy  hues,  which  prevent  the  intru- 
sion of  aught  rude  or  brusque  that  might  awaken  a 


c  n  0  p  I X. 


25 


dissonance  in  the  touching  impression  produced, 
which,  while  saddening  joy,  soothes  and  softens  the 
bitterness  of  sorrow. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  pass  in  silence  the  Fa- 
neral  March  inserted  in  the  first  Sonata,  which  was 
arranged  for  the  orchestra,  and  performed,  for  the 
first  time,  at  his  own  obsequies.  What  other  accents 
could  have  been  found  capable  of  expressing,  with  the 
same  heart-breaking  effect,  the  emotions,  the  tears, 
which  should  accompany  to  the  last  long  sleep,  one 
who  had  taught  in  a  manner  so  sublime,  how  great 
losses  should  be  mourned  ?  We  once  heard  it  re- 
marked by  a  native  of  his  own  country  :  "  these 
pages  could  only  have  been  written  by  a  Pole."  All 
that  the  funeral  train  of  an  entire  nation  weeping 
its  own  ruin  and  death  can  be  imagined  to  feel  of 
desolating  woe,  of  majestic  sorrow,  wails  in  the  mu- 
sical ringing  of  this  passing  bell,  mourns  in  the  toll- 
ing of  this  solemn  knell,  as  it  accompanies  the 
mighty  escort  on  its  way  to  the  still  city  of  the  Dead. 
The  intensity  of  mystic  hope  ;  the  devout  appeal  to 
superhuman  pity,  to  infinite  mercy,  to  a  dread  justice, 
which  numbers  every  cradle  and  watches  every  tomb  ; 
the  exalted  resignation  which  has  wreathed  so  much 
grief  with  halos  so  luminous  ;  the  noble  endurance 
of  so  many  disasters  with  the  inspired  heroism  of 
Christian  martyrs  who  know  not  to  despair  ; — resound 
in  this  melancholy  chant,  whose  voice  of  supplication 
breaks  the  heart.  All  of  most  pure,  of  most  holy, 
of  most  believing,  of  most  hopeful  in  the  hearts  of 
children,  women,  and  priests,  resounds,  quivers  and 


26 


CHOPIN. 


trembles  there  with  irresistible  vibrations.  We  feci 
it  is  not  the  death  of  a  single  warrior  we  mourn, 
while  other  heroes  live  to  avenge  him,  but  that  a 
whole  generation  of  warriors  has  forever  fallen,  leav- 
ing the  death  song  to  be  chanted  but  by  wailing 
women,  weeping  children  and  helpless  priests.  Yet 
this  Mélopée  so  funereal,  so  full  of  desolating  woe,  is 
of  such  penetrating  sweetness,  that  we  can  scarcely 
deem  it  of  this  earth.  These  sounds,  in  which  the 
"wild  passion  of  human  anguish  seems  chilled  by  awe 
and  softened  by  distance,  impose  a  profound  medita- 
tion, as  if,  chanted  by  angels,  they  floated  already  in 
the  heavens  :  the  cry  of  a  nation's  anguish  mounting 
to  the  very  throne  of  God  !  The  appeal  of  human 
grief  from  the  lyre  of  seraphs  !  Neither  cries,  nor 
lioarse  groans,  nor  impious  blasphemies,  nor  furious 
imprecations,  trouble  for  a  moment  the  sublime  sor- 
row of  the  plaint  :  it  breathes  upon  the  ear  like  the 
rhythmed  sighs  of  angels.  The  antique  face  of  grief 
is  entirely  excluded.  Nothing  recalls  the  fury  of 
Cassandra,  the  prostration  of  Priam,  the  frenzy  of 
Hecuba,  the  despair  of  the  Trojan  captives.  A 
sublime  faith,  destroying  in  the  survivors  of  this 
Christian  llion  the  bitterness  of  anguish  and  the 
cowardice  of  despair,  their  sorrow  is  no  longer 
marked  by  earthly  weakness.  Kaising  itself  from 
the  soil  wet  with  blood  and  tears,  it  springs  forward 
to  implore  Uod  ;  and,  having  nothing  more  to  hope 
from  earth,  it  supplicates  the  Supreme  Judge  with 
prayers  so  poignant,  that  our  hearts,  in  listening, 
break  under  the  weight  of  an  august  compassion  ( 


C  H  0  P  I  X. 


27 


It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  thai,  all  the  com- 
positions of  Chopin  are  deprived  of  the  feelings 
which  he  has  deemed  best  to  suppress  in  this  great 
work.  Not  so.  Perhaps  human  nature  is  not  capa- 
ble of  maintaining  always  this  mood  of  energetic 
abnegation,  of  courageous  submission.  AVe  meet 
with  breathings  of  stifled  rage,  of  suppressed  anger, 
in  many  passages  of  his  writings  ;  and  many  of  his 
Studies,  as  well  as  his  Scherzos,  depict  a  concentrated 
exasperation  and  despair,  which  are  sometimes  mani- 
fested in  bitter  irony,  sometimes  in  intolerant  hau- 
teur. These  dark  apostrophes  of  his  muse  have 
attracted  less  attention,  have  been  less  fully  under- 
stood, than  his  poems  of  more  tender  coloring.  The 
personal  character  of  Chopin  had  something  to  do 
with  this  general  misconception.  Kind,  courteous, 
and  affable,  of  tranquil  and  almost  joyous  manners, 
he  would  not  suffer  the  secret  convulsions  which 
agitated  him  to  be  even  suspected. 

His  character  was  indeed  not  easily  understood. 
A  thousand  subtle  shades,  mingling,  crossing,  con- 
tradicting and  disguising  each  other,  rendered  it 
almost  undecipherable  at  a  first  view.  As  is  usually 
the  case  with  the  Sclaves,  it  was  difficult  to  read 
the  recesses  of  his  mind.  With  them,  loyalty  and 
candor,  familiarity  and  the  most  captivating  ease  of 
manner,  by  no  means  imply  confidence,  or  impulsive 
frankness.  Like  the  twisted  folds  of  a  serpent  rolled 
upon  itself,  their  feelings  are  half  hidden,  half  re- 
vealed. It  requires  a  most  attentive  examination  to 
follow  the  coiled  linking  of  the  glittering  rings.  It 


28 


CHOPIN. 


would  be  naïve  to  interpret  literally  their  courtesy 
lull  of  compliment,  their  assumed  humility.  The 
forms  of  this  politeness,  this  modesty,  have  their  solu- 
tion in  their  manners,  in  which  their  ancient  connec- 
tion with  the  East  may  be  strangely  traced.  AVithout 
having  in  the  least  degree  acquired  the  taciturnity 
of  the  Mussulman,  they  have  yet  learned  from  it  a 
distrustful  reserve  upon  all  subjects  which  touch  upon 
the  more  delicate  and  personal  chords  of  the  heart. 
When  they  speak  of  themselves,  we  may  almost 
always  be  certain  that  they  keep  some  concealment  in 
reserve,  which  assures  them  the  advantage  in  intellect, 
or  feeling.  They  suffer  their  interrogator  to  remain 
in  ignorance  of  some  circumstance,  some  mobile 
secret,  through  the  unveiling  of  which  they  would  be 
more  admired,  or  less  esteemed,  and  which  they  well 
know  how  to  hide  under  the  subtle  smile  of  an  almost 
imperceptible  mockery.  Delighting  in  the  pleasure 
of  mystification,  from  the  most  spiritual  or  comic  to 
the  most  bitter  and  melancholy,  they  may  perhaps 
find  in  this  deceptive  raillery  an  external  formula  of 
disdain  for  the  veiled  expression  of  the  superiority 
■which  they  internally  claim,  but  which  claim  they  veil 
■with  the  caution  and  astuteness  natural  to  the  op- 
pressed. 

The  frail  and  sickly  organization  of  Chopin,  not 
permitting  him  the  energetic  expression  of  his  pas- 
sions, he  gave  to  his  friends  only  the  gentle  and 
affectionate  phase  of  his  nature.  In  the  busy,  eager 
life  of  large  cities,  where  no  one  has  time  to  study  the 
destiny  of  another,  where  every  one  is  judged  by  his 


r  u  o  p  I  X. 


29 


external  activity,  very  few  think  it  worth  while  to 
attempt  to  penetrate  the  enigma  of  individual  cha- 
racter. Those  who  enjoyed  familiar  intercourse  with 
Chopin,  could  not  be  blind  to  the  impatience  and 
ennui  he  experienced  in  being,  upon  the  calm  charac- 
ter of  his  manners,  so  promptly  believed.  And  may 
not  the  artist  revenge  the  man  ?  As  his  health  was 
too  frail  to  permit  him  to  give  vent  to  his  impa- 
tience through  the  vehemence  of  his  execution,  he 
sought  to  compensate  himself  by  pouring  this  bitter- 
ness over  those  pages  which  he  loved  to  hear  per- 
formed with  a  vigor*  which  he  could  not  himself 
always  command  :  pages  which  are  indeed  full  of  the 
impassioned  feelings  of  a  man  suflfering  deeply  from 
wounds  which  he  does  not  choose  to  avow.  Thus 
around  a  gaily  flagged,  yet  sinking  ship,  float  the  fallen 
spars  and  scattered  fragments,  torn  by  warring  winds 
and  surging  waves  from  its  shattered  sides  ! 

Such  emotions  have  been  of  so  much  the  more 
importance  in  the  life  of  Chopin,  because  they  have 
deeply  influenced  the  character  of  his  compositions. 
Among  the  pages  published  under  such  influences, 
may  be  traced  much  analogous  to  the  wire-drawn 
subtleties  of  Jean  Paul,  who  found  it  necessary,  in 
order  to  move  hearts  macerated  by  passion,  blasés 
through  suffering,  to  make  use  of  the  surprises  caused 
by  natural  and  physical  phenomena  ;  to  evoke  the 
sensations  of  luxurious  terrors  arising  from  occur- 
rences not  to  be  foreseen  in  the  natural  order  of 

*  It  was  his  deligLt  to  hear  them  executed  by  the  great  Liszt 
himself. — Translator, 


30 


C  II  O  P  I  N. 


things;  to  awaken  the  morbid  excitements  of  a 
dreamy  brain.  Step  by  step  the  tortured  mind  of 
Chopin  arrived  at  a  state  of  sickly  irritability  ;  his 
emotions  increased  to  a  feverish  tremor,  producing 
that  involution,  that  tortuosity  of  thought,  which 
înark  his  latest  works.  Almost  suffocating  under 
the  oppression  of  repressed  feelings,  using  art  only 
to  repeat  and  rehearse  for  himself  his  own  internal 
tragedy,  after  having  wearied  emotion,  he  began  to 
subtilize  it.  His  melodies  are  actually  tormented  ; 
a  nervous  and  restless  sensibility  leads  to  an  obstinate 
persistence  in  the  handling  and  rehandling  and  a 
reiterated  pursuit  of  the  tortured  motifs,  which 
impress  us  as  painfully  as  the  sight  of  those  physical 
or  mental  agonies  which  we  know  can  find  relief 
only  in  death.  Chopin  was  a  victim  to  a  disease 
without  hope,  which  growing  more  envenomed  from 
year  to  year,  took  him,  while  yet  young,  from  those 
who  loved  him,  and  laid  him  in  his  still  grave.  As 
in  the  fair  form  of  some  beautiful  victim,  the  marks 
of  the  grasping  claws  of  the  fierce  bird  of  prey 
which  has  destroyed  it,  may  be  found  ;  so,  in  the  pro- 
ductions of  which  we  have  just  spoken,  the  traces  of 
the  bitter  sufferings  which  devoured  his  heart,  are 
painfully  visible. 


CHAPTER  II. 


National  Character  of  the  Polonaise — Oginski — Meyseder — Weher 
— Chopin— His  Polonaise  in  F  Sharp,  Minor— Polonaise  Fantaisie. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  tortured  aberra- 
tions of  feeling  to  which  we  have  just  alluded,  ever 
injure  the  harmonic  tissue  in  the  works  of  Chopin  ; 
on  the  contrary,  they  only  render  it  a  more  curious 
subject  for  analysis.  Such  eccentricities  rarely  oc- 
cur in  his  more  generally  known  and  admired  com- 
positions. His  Polonaises,  which  are  less  studied 
than  they  merit,  on  account  of  the  difficulties  pre- 
sented by  their  perfect  execution,  are  to  be  classed 
among  his  highest  inspirations.  They  never  remind 
us  of  the  mincing  and  affected  "  Polonaises  à  la 
Pompadour''  which  our  orchestras  have  introduced 
into  ball-rooms,  our  virtuosi  in  concerts,  or  of  those 
to  be  found  in  our  *'  Parlor  Repertories,"  filled,  as 
they  invariably  are,  with  hacknied  collections  of 
music,  marked  by  insipidity  and  mannerism. 

His  Polonaises,  characterized  by  an  energetic 
rhythm,  galvanize  and  electrify  the  torpor  of  indiffer- 
ence. The  most  noble  traditional  feelings  of  ancient 
Poland  are  embodied  in  them.  The  firm  resolve  and 
calm  gravity  of  its  men  of  other  days,  breathe 
through  these  compositions.  Generally  of  a  martial 
character,  courage  and  daring  are  rendered  with  that 
simplicity  of  expression,  said  to  be  a  distinctive  trait 

31 


32 


C  II  0  F  I  N\ 


of  this  warlike  people.  They  bring  vividly  before 
the  imagination,  the  ancient  Poles,  as  we  find  thera 
described  in  their  chronicles  ;  gifted  with  powerful 
organizations,  subtle  intellects,  indomitable  courage 
and  earnest  piety,  mingled  with  high-born  courtesy 
and  a  gallantry  which  never  deserted  them,  whether 
on  the  eve  of  battle,  during  its  exciting  course,  in 
the  triumph  of  victory,  or  amidst  the  gloom  of  de- 
feat. So  inherent  was  this  gallantry  and  chivalric 
courtesy  in  their  nature,  that  in  spite  of  the  restraint 
which  their  customs,  (resembling  those  of  their  neigh- 
bours and  enemies,  the  infidels  of  Stamboul,)  in- 
duced them  to  exercise  upon  their  women,  confining 
them  in  the  limits  of  domestic  life  and  always  hold- 
ing them  under  legal  wardship,  they  still  manifest 
themselves  in  their  annals,  in  which  they  have  glori- 
fied and  immortalized  queens  who  were  saints;  vassals 
who  became  queens,  beautiful  subjects  for  whose  sake 
some  periled,  while  others  lost  crowns  :  a  terrible 
Sforza;  an  intriguing  d'Arquien  ;  and  a  coquettish 
Gonzaga. 

The  Poles  of  olden  times  united  a  manly  firmness 
with  this  peculiar  chivalric  devotion  to  the  objects  of 
their  love.  A  characteristic  example  of  this  may 
be  seen  in  the  letters  of  Jean  Sobieski  to  his  wife, 
'i'hey  were  dictated  in  face  of  the  standards  of  the 
Crescent,  "numerous  as  the  ears  in  a  grain-field," 
tender  and  devoted  as  is  their  character.  Such 
traits  caught  a  singular  and  imposing  hue  from  the 
grave  deportment  of  these  men,  so  dignified  that 
they  might  almost  be  accused  of  pomposity.    It  was 


C  U  0  P  I  X. 


33 


next  to  impossible  that  they  should  not  contract  a 
taste  for  this  stateliness,  when  we  consider  that  they 
had  almost  always  before  them  the  most  exquisite 
type  of  gravity  of  manner  in  the  followers  of  Islam 
whose  qualities  they  appreciated  and  appropriated, 
even  while  engaged  in  repelling  their  invasions. 
Like  the  infidel,  they  knew  how  to  preface  their  acts 
by  an  intelligent  deliberation,  so  that  the  device  of 
Prince  Boleslas  of  Pomerania,  was  always  present 
to  them  :  "  First  weigh  it  ;  then  dare  :"  Erst  loierfs  : 
dann  wag's  I  Such  deliberation  imparted  a  kind  of 
stately  pride  to  their  movements,  while  it  left  them 
in  possession  of  an  ease  and  freedom  of  spirit  access- 
ible to  the  lightest  cares  of  tenderness,  to  the  most 
trivial  interests  of  the  passing  hour,  to  the  most  tran- 
sient feelings  of  the  heart.  As  it  made  part  of  their 
code  of  honor  to  make  those  who  interfered  with 
them,  in  their  more  tender  interests,  pay  dearly  for 
it  ;  so  they  knew  how  to  beautify  life,  and,  better 
still,  they  knew  how  to  love  those  who  embellished 
it  ;  to  revere  those  who  rendered  it  precious  to 
them. 

Their  chivalric  heroism  was  sanctioned  by  their 
grave  and  haughty  dignity  ;  an  intelligent  and  pre- 
meditated conviction  added  the  force  of  reason  to 
the  energy  of  impulsive  virtue  ;  thus  they  have  suc- 
ceeded in  winning  the  admiration  of  all  ages,  of  all 
minds,  even  that  of  their  most  determined  adversa- 
ries. They  were  characterized  by  qualities  rarely 
found  together,  the  description  of  which  would  ap- 
pear almost  paradoxical  :  reckless  wisdom,  daring 


34 


CHOPIN. 


prudence,  aud  fauatic  fatalism.  The  most  marked 
and  celebrated  historic  manifestations  of  these  pro- 
perties is  to  be  found  in  the  expedition  of  Sobieski 
when  he  saved  Vienna,  and  gave  a  mortal  blow  to 
the  Ottoman  Empire,  which  was  at  last  conquered  in 
the  long  struggle,  sustained  on  both  sides  with  so 
much  prowess  and  glory,  with  so  much  mutual  defe- 
rence between  opponents  as  magnanimous  in  their 
truces,  as  irreconcilable  in  their  combats. 

While  listening  to  some  of  the  Polonaises  of 
Chopin,  we  can  almost  catch  the  firm,  nay,  the  more 
than  firm,  the  heavy,  resolute  tread  of  men  bravely 
facing  all  the  bitter  injustice  which  the  most  cruel 
aud  relentless  destiny  can  offer,  with  the  manly  pride 
of  unblenching  courage.  The  progress  of  the  music 
suggests  to  our  imagination  such  magnificent  groups 
as  were  designed  by  Paul  Veronese,  robed  in  the 
rich  costume  of  days  long  past  :  we  see  passing  at 
intervals  before  us,  brocades  of  gold,  velvets,  da- 
masked satins,  silvery  soft  and  flexile  sables,  hanging 
sleeves  gracefully  thrown  back  upon  the  shoulders, 
embossed  sabres,  boots  yellow  as  gold  or  red  with 
trampled  blood,  sashes  with  long  and  undulating 
fringes,  close  chemisettes,  rustling  trains,  stomachers 
embroidered  with  pearls,  head  dresses  glittering  with 
rubies  or  leafy  with  emeralds,  light  slippers  rich  with 
amber,  gloves  perfumed  with  the  luxurious  attar 
from  the  harems.  From  the  faded  background  of 
times  long  passed  these  vivid  groups  start  forth  ; 
gorgeous  carpets  from  Persia  lie  at  their  feet,  fili- 
greed  furniture  from  Constantinople  stands  around  ; 


C  H  O  P  I  .V. 


35 


all  is  marked  by  tlie  sumptuous  prodigality  of  the 
Magnates  who  drew,  in  ruby  goblets  embossed  with 
medallions,  wine  from  the  fountains  of  Tokay,  and 
sliced  their  fleet  Arabian  steeds  with  silver,  who  sur- 
mounted all  their  escutcheons  with  the  same  crown 
which  the  fate  of  an  election  might  render  a  royul 
one,  and  which,  causing  them  to  despise  all  other 
titles,  was  alone  worn  as  insignium  of  their  glorious 
equality. 

Those  who  have  seen  the  Polonaise  danced  even 
as  late  as  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  de- 
clare that  its  style  has  changed  so  much,  that  it  is 
now  almost  impossible  to  divine  its  primitive  cha-t, 
racter.  As  very  few  national  dances  have  suc-a 
ceeded  in  preserving  their  racy  originality,  we  may 
imagine,  when  we  take  into  consideration  the  changes 
which  have  occurred,  to  what  a  degree  this  has  de- 
generated. Tlic  P*Jonaise  is  without  rapid  move- 
meats,  without  any  true  steps  in  the  artistic  sense 
of  the  word,  intended  rather  for  display  than  for  the 
exhibition  of  seductive  grace  ;  so  we  may  readily 
conceive  it  must  lose  all  its  haughty  importance,  ils 
pompous  self-sufficiency,  when  the  dancers  are  de- 
prived of  the  accessories  necessary  to  enable  them  to 
animate  its  simple  form  by  dignified,  yet  vivid  ges- 
tures, by  appropriate  and  expressive  pantomime,  and 
when  the  costume  peculiarly  fitted  for  it  is  no  longer 
worn.  It  has  indeed  become  decidedly  monotonous, 
a  mere  circulating  promenade,  exciting  but  little 
interest.  Unless  we  could  see  it  danced  by  some  of 
the  old  regime  who  still  wear  the  ancient  costume, 
4 


36 


c  11  0  r  I N. 


or  listen  to  their  animated  descriptions  of  it,  we  can 
form  no  conception  of  the  numerous  incidents,  the 
scenic  pantomime,  which  once  rendered  it  so  effect- 
ive. By  a  rare  exception  this  dance  was  designed 
to  exhibit  the  men,  to  disphiy  manly  beauty,  to  set 
off  noble  and  dignified  deportment,  martial  yet 
courtly  bearing.  '*  Martial  yet  courtly  :"  do  not 
these  two  epithets  almost  define  the  Polish  cha- 
racter? In  the  original  the  very  name  of  the  dance 
is  masculine;  it  is  only  in  consequence  of  a  miscon- 
ception that  it  has  been  translated  in  other  tongues 
into  the  feminine  gender. 

Those  who  have  never  seen  the  Kontusz  worn,  (it 
is  a  kind  of  Occidental  kaftan,  as  it  is  the  robe  of  the 
Orientals,  modified  to  suit  the  customs  of  an  active 
life,  unfettered  by  the  stagnant  resignation  taught  by 
fatalism,)  a  sort  of  Feredgi,  often  trimmed  with  fur, 
forcing  the  wearer  to  make  frequent  movements  sus- 
ceptible of  grace  and  coquetry,  by  which  the  flowing 
sleeves  are  thrown  backward,  can  scarcely  imagine 
the  bearing,  the  slow  bending,  the  quick  rising,  the 
finesse  of  the  delicate  pantomime  displayed  by  the 
Ancients,  as  they  defiled  in  a  Polonaise,  as  though 
in  a  military  parade,  not  suffering  their  fingers  to  re- 
main idle,  but  sometimes  occupying  them  in  playing 
with  the  long  moustache,  sometimes  with  the  handle 
of  the  sword.  Both  moustache  and  sword  were 
essential  parts  of  the  costume,  and  were  indeed 
objects  of  vanity  with  all  ages.  Diamonds  and  sap- 
phires frequently  sparkled  upon  the  arms,  worn  sus- 
pended from  belts  of  cashmere,  or  from  sashes  of 


C  U  0  P  I  N. 


37 


silk  embroidered  with  gold,  displaying  to  advantage 
forms  always  slightly  corpulent  ;  the  moustache  often 
veiled,  without  quite  hiding,  some  scar,  far  more 
efïective  than  the  most  brilliant  array  of  jewels. 
The  dress  of  the  men  rivaled  that  of  the  women  in 
the  luxury  of  the  material  worn,  in  the  value  of  the 
precious  stones,  and  in  the  variety  of  vivid  colors. 
This  love  of  adornment  is  also  found  among  the 
Hungarians,*  as  may  be  seen  in  their  buttons  made 
of  jewels,  the  rings  forming  a  necessary  part  of  their 
dress,  the  wrought  clasps  for  the  neck,  the  aigrettes 
and  plumes  adorning  the  cap  made  of  velvet  of  some 
brilliant  hue.  To  know  how  to  take  off,  to  put  on, 
to  manœuvre  the  cap  with  all  possible  grace,  consti- 
tuted almost  an  art.  During  the  progress  of  a  Po- 
lonaise, this  became  an  object  of  especial  remark, 
because  the  cavalier  of  the  leading  pair,  as  command- 
ant of  the  file,  gave  the  mute  word  of  coRimand, 
uhich  was  immediately  obeyed  and  imitated  by  the 
rest  of  the  train. 

The  master  of  the  house  in  which  the  ball  was 
given,  always  opened  it  himself  by  leading  off  in 
this  dance.  His  partner  was  selected  neither  for  her 
beauty,  nor  youth  ;  the  most  highly  honored  lady 
present  was  always  chosen.  This  phalanx,  by  whose 
evolutions  every  fête  was  commenced,  was  not  formed 
only  of  the  young  :  it  was  composed  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished, as  well  as  of  the  most  beautiful.  A 

*  The  Hnngarian  costume  wora  by  Prince  Nicholas  Esterhazy  at 
the  coronation  of  George  the  Fourth,  is  still  remembered  in  Eng- 
land.  It  was  valued  at  several  millions  of  florins. 


38 


CHOPIN. 


grand  review,  a  dazzling  exhibition  of  all  the  dis- 
tinction present,  was  offered  as  the  highest  pleasure 
of  the  festival.  After  the  host,  came  next  in  order 
the  guests  of  the  greatest  consideration,  who,  clioos- 
iiig  their  partners,  some  from  friendsliip,  some  from 
policy  or  from  desire  of  advancement,  some  from 
love, — followed  closely  his  steps.  His  task  was  a 
far  more  complicated  one  than  it  is  at  present.  He 
was  expected  to  conduct  the  files  under  his  guidance 
through  a  thousand  capricious  meanderings,  through 
long  suites  of  apartments  lined  by  guests,  who  were 
to  take  a  later  part  in  this  brilliant  cortege.  They 
liked  to  be  conducted  through  distant  galleries, 
through  the  parterres  of  illuminated  gardens,  through 
the  groves  of  shrubbery,  where  distant  echos  of  the 
music  alone  reached  the  ear,  which,  as  if  in  revenge, 
greeted  them  with  redoubled  sound  and  blowing  of 
trumpets  upon  their  return  to  the  principal  saloon. 
As  the  spectators,  ranged  like  rows  of  hedges  along 
the  route,  were  continually  changing,  and  never 
ceased  for  a  moment  to  observe  all  their  movements, 
the  dancers  never  forgot  that  dignity  of  bearing  and 
address  which  won  for  them  the  admiration  of  wo- 
men, and  excited  the  jealousy  of  men.  Tain  and 
joyous,  the  host  would  have  deemed  himself  wanting 
in  courtesy  to  his  guests,  had  he  not  evinced  to  them, 
which  he  did  sometimes  with  a  piquant  naivete,  the 
pride  he  felt  in  seeing  himself  surrounded  by  persons 
so  illustrious,  and  partisans  so  noble,  all  striving 
through  the  splendor  of  the  attire  chosen  to  visit  him, 


C  U  0  P  I  X. 


39 


to  show  their  high  sense  of  the  honor  in  which  they 
held  him. 

Guided  by  him  in  their  first  circuit,  they  were  led 
through  long  windings,  where  unexpected  turns, 
views,  and  openings  had  been  arranged  beforehand  to 
cause  surprise;  where  architectural  deceptions,  deco- 
rations and  shifting  scenes  had  been  studiously 
adapted  to  increase  the  pleasure  of  the  festival.  If 
any  monument  or  inscription,  fitted  for  the  occasion, 
lay  upon  the  long  line  of  route,  from  which  some 
complimentary  homage  might  be  drawn  to  the 
*'  most  valiant  or  the  most  beautiful,"  the  honors 
■were  gracefully  done  by  the  host.  The  more  unex- 
pected the  surprises  arranged  for  these  excursions, 
the  more  imagination  evinced  in  their  invention,  the 
louder  were  the  applauses  from  the  younger  part  of 
the  society,  the  more  ardent  the  exclamations  of  de- 
light ;  and  silvery  sounds  of  merry  laughter  greeted 
pleasantly  the  ears  of  the  conductor-in-chief,  who, 
having  thus  succeeded  in  achieving  his  reputation, 
became  a  privileged  Corypheus,  a  leader  par  excel- 
lence. If  he  had  already  attained  a  certain  age, 
he  was  greeted  on  his  return  from  such  circuits  by 
frequent  deputations  of  young  ladies,  who  came,  in 
the  name  of  all  present,  to  thank  and  congratulate 
him.  Through  their  vivid  descriptions,  these  pretty 
wanderers  excited  the  curiosity  of  the  guests,  and 
increased  the  eagerness  for  the  formation  of  the  suc- 
ceeding Polonaises  anr.or.g  those  who,  though  they 
did  nor  make  part  of  the  procession,  still  watched 


40 


c  u  0  r  I  N. 


its  passage  in  motionless  attention,  as  if  gazing  upon 
the  flashing  line  of  light  of  some  brilliant  meteor. 

In  this  land  of  aristocratic  democracy,  the  numer- 
ous dependents  of  the  great  seigniorial  houses,  (too 
poor,  indeed,  to  take  part  in  the  fête,  yet  only  ex- 
cluded from  it  by  their  own  volition,  all,  however 
noble,  some  even  more  noble  than  their  lords,)  being 
all  present,  it  was  considered  highly  desirable  to 
dazzle  them  ;  and  this  flowing  chain  of  rainbow- 
hued  and  gorgeous  light,  like  an  immense  serpent 
with  its  glittering  rings,  sometimes  wreathed  its  linked 
folds,  sometimes  uncoiled  its  entire  length,  to  display 
its  brilliancy  through  the  whole  line  of  its  undulating 
animated  surface,  in  the  most  vivid  scintillations  ; 
accompanying  the  shifting  hues  with  the  silvery 
sounds  of  chains  of  gold,  ringing  like  muffled  bells; 
with  the  rustling  of  the  heavy  sweep  of  gorgeous 
damasks  and  with  the  dragging  of  jewelled  swords 
upon  the  floor.  The  murmuring  sound  of  many 
voices  announced  the  approach  of  this  animated, 
varied,  and  glittering  life-stream. 

But  the  genius  of  hospitality,  never  deficient  in 
high-born  courtesy,  and  which,  even  while  preserving 
the  touching  simplicity  of  primitive  manners,  inspired 
in  Poland  all  the  refinements  of  the  mt)st  advanced 
state  of  civilization, — how  could  it  be  exiled  from  the 
details  of  a  dance  so  eminently  Polish  ?  After  the  host 
had,  l)y  inaugurating  the  fOte,  rendered  due  homage  to 
all  who  were  present,  any  one  of  his  guests  had  tlie 
right  to  claim  his  place  with  the  lady  whom  he  had 
honored  by  his  choice.    The  new  claimant,  clapping 


C  U  0  P  I  N. 


41 


his  bands,  to  arrest  for  a  moment  tlie  ever  moving 
cortege,  bowed  before  the  partner  of  the  host,  beg- 
ging her  graciously  to  accept  the  change;  while  the 
host,  from  whom  she  had  been  taken,  made  the  same 
appeal  to  the  lady  next  in  course.  This  example 
was  followed  by  the  whole  train.  Constantly  chang- 
ing partners,  whenever  a  new  cavalier  claimed  the 
honor  of  leading  the  one  first  chosen  by  the  host, 
the  ladies  remained  in  the  same  succession  during 
the  whole  course  ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  as  the  gen- 
tlemen continually  replaced  each  other,  he  who  had 
commenced  the  dance,  would,  in  its  progress,  become 
the  last,  if  not  indeed  entirely  excluded  before  its 
close. 

Each  cavalier  who  placed  himself  in  turn  at  the 
head  of  the  column,  tried  to  surpass  his  predecessors 
in  the  novelty  of  the  combinations  of  his  opening, 
in  the  complications  of  the  windings  through  which 
he  led  the  expectant  cortege  ;  and  this  course,  even 
^Yhen  restricted  to  a  single  saloon,  might  be  made 
remarkable  by  the  designing  of  graceful  arabesques, 
or  the  involved  tracing  of  enigmatical  ciphers.  He 
made  good  his  claim  to  the  place  he  had  solicited, 
and  displayed  his  skill,  by  inventing  close,  compli- 
cated and  inextricable  figures  ;  by  describing  them 
with  so  much  certainty  and  accuracy,  that  the  living 
ribbon,  turned  and  twisted  as  it  might  be,  was  never 
broken  in  the  loosing  of  its  wreathed  knots  ;  and  by 
so  leading,  that  no  confusion  or  graceless  jostling 
should  result  from  the  complicated  torsion.  The 
succeeding  couples,  who  had  only  to  follow  the  figures 


42 


CHOPIN. 


already  given,  and  tlms  continue  the  impulsion,  were 
not  permitted  to  drag  themselves  lazily  and  listlessly 
along  the  parquet.  The  step  was  rhythmic,  cadenced, 
and  undulating  ;  the  whole  form  swayed  by  graceful 
wavings  and  harmonious  balancings.  Thoy  were 
careful  never  to  advance  with  too  much  haste,  nor  to 
replace  each  other  as  if  driven  on  by  some  urgent 
necessity.  On  they  glided,  like  swans  descending  a 
tranquil  stream,  their  flexile  forms  swayed  by  the  ebb 
and  swell  of  unseen  and  gentle  waves.  Sometimes, 
the  gentleman  offered  the  right,  sometimes,  the  left 
hand  to  his  partner  ;  touching  only  the  ])oints  of  her 
fingers,  or  clasping  the  slight  hand  within  his  own, 
he  passed  now  to  her  right,  now  to  her  left,  without 
yielding  the  snowy  treasure.  These  complicated 
movements,  being  instantaneously  imitated  by  every 
pair,  ran,  like  an  electric  shiver,  through  the  whole 
length  of  this  gigantic  serpent.  Although  apparently 
occupied  and  absorbed  by  these  multiplied  manoeu- 
vres, the  cavalier  yet  found  time  to  bend  to  his  lady 
and  whisper  sweet  flatteries  in  her  ear,  if  she  were 
young;  if  young  no  longer,  to  repose  confidence,  to 
urge  requests,  or  to  repeat  to  her  the  news  of  the 
hour.  Then,  haughtily  raising  himself,  he  would 
make  the  metal  of  his  arms  ring,  caress  his  thick 
moustache,  giving  to  all  his  features  an  expression  so 
vivid,  that  the  lady  was  forced  to  respond  by  the 
animation  of  her  own  countenance. 

Thus,  it  was  no  hacknied  and  senseless  promenade 
which  they  executed  ;  it  was,  rather,  a  parade  in 
which  the  whole  splendor  of  the  society  was  exhi- 


CHOPIN. 


43 


bited,  gratified  with  its  own  adaiiration,  conscious  of 
its  own  elegance,  brilliancy,  nobility  and  courtesy. 
It  was  a  constant  display  of  its  lustre,  its  glory,  its 
renown.  Men  grown  gray  in  camps,  or  in  the  strife 
of  courtly  eloquence  ;  generals  more  often  seen  in 
the  cuirass  than  in  the  robes  of  peace  ;  prelates  and 
persons  high  in  tlie  Church  ;  dignitaries  of  Stale  ; 
aged  senators  ;  warlike  palatins  ;  ambitious  castel- 
lans ; — were  the  partners  who  were  expected,  wel- 
comed, disputed  and  sought  for,  by  the  youngest, 
gayest,  and  most  brilliant  women  present.  Honor 
and  glory  rendered  ages  equal,  and  caused  years  to 
be  forgotten  in  this  dance  ;  nay,  more,  they  gave  an 
advantage  even  over  love.  It  was  while  listening  to 
the  animated  descriptions  of  the  almost  forgotten  evo- 
lutions and  dignified  capabilities  of  this  truly  national 
dance,  from  the  lips  of  those  who  would  never  aban- 
don the  ancient  Zupan  and  Kontusz,  and  who  still 
wore  their  hair  closely  cut  round  their  temples,  as  it 
had  been  worn  by  their  ancestors,  that  we  first  fully 
understood  in  what  a  high  degree  this  haughty  nation 
possessed  the  innate  instinct  of  its  own  exhibition, 
and  how  entirely  it  had  succeeded,  through  its  na- 
tural grace  and  genius,  in  poetizing  its  love  of  osten- 
tation by  draping  it  in  the  charms  of  noble  emotions, 
and  wrapping  round  it  the  glittering  robes  of  martial 
glory. 

AVhen  we  visited  the  country  of  Chopin,  whose 
memory  always  accompanied  us  like  a  faithful  guide 
who  constantly  keeps  our  interest  excited,  we  were 
fortunate  enough  to  meet  with  some  of  the  peculiar 


44 


c  n  0  p  I  x. 


characters,  daily  growing  more  rare,  because  Eu- 
ropean civilization,  even  where  it  does  not  modify 
the  basis  of  character,  effaces  asperities,  and  moulds 
exterior  forms.  We  there  encountered  some  of  those 
men  gifted  with  superior  intellect,  cultivated  and 
strongly  developed  by  a  life  of  incessant  action,  yet 
whose  horizon  does  not  extend  beyond  the  limits  of 
their  own  country,  their  own  society,  their  own  tra- 
ditions. During  our  intercourse,  facilitated  by  an 
interpreter,  with  these  men  of  past  days,  we  were 
able  to  study  them  and  to  understand  the  secret  of 
their  greatness.  It  was  really  curious  to  observe  the 
inimitable  originality  caused  by  the  utter  exclusive 
ness  of  the  view  taken  by  them.  This  limited  culti 
vation,  while  it  greatly  diminishes  the  value  of  their 
ideas  upon  many  subjects,  at  the  same  time  gifts  the 
raind  with  a  peculiar  force,  almost  resembling  the 
keen  scent  and  the  acute  perceptions  of  the  savage, 
for  all  the  things  near  and  dear  to  it.  Only  from  a 
mind  of  this  peculiar  training,  marked  by  a  concen- 
trative  energy  that  nothing  can  distract  from  its 
course,  every  thing  beyond  the  circle  of  its  own  na- 
tionality remaining  alien  to  it,  can  we  hope  to  ob- 
tain an  exact  picture  of  the  past  ;  for  it  alone,  like 
a  faithful  mirror,  reflects  it  in  its  primal  coloring, 
preserves  its  proper  lights  and  shades,  and  gives  it 
with  its  varied  and  picturesque  accompaniments. 
From  such  minds  alone  can  we  obtain,  with  the 
ritual  of  customs  which  are  rapidly  becoming  extinct, 
the  spirit  from  which  they  emanated.  Chopin  was 
born  too  late,  and  left  the  domestic  hearth  too  early, 


CHOPIN. 


45 


to  be  himself  in  possession  of  this  spirit  ;  but  he  had 
known  many  examples  of  it,  and,  through  the  memo- 
ries which  surrounded  his  childhood,  even  more  fully 
than  through  the  literature  and  history  of  his  coun- 
try, he  found  by  induction  the  secrets  of  its  ancient 
prestige,  which  he  evoked  from  the  dim  and  dark 
land  of  forgetfulness,  and,  through  the  magic  of  his 
poetic  art,  endowed  with  immortal  youth.  Poets  are 
better  comprehended  and  appreciated  by  those  who 
have  made  themselves  familiar  with  the  countries 
which  inspired  their  songs.  Pindar  is  more  fully 
understood  by  those  who  have  seen  the  Parthenon 
bathed  in  the  radiance  of  its  limpid  atmosphere  ; 
Ossian,  by  those  familiar  with  the  mountains  of 
Scotland,  with  their  heavy  veils  and  long  wreaths  of 
mist.  The  feelings  which  inspired  the  creations  of 
Chopin  can  only  be  fully  appreciated  by  those  who 
have  visited  his  country.  They  must  have  seen  the 
giant  shadows  of  past  centuries  gradually  increasing, 
and  veiling  the  ground  as  the  gloomy  night  of  despair 
rolled  on  ;  they  must  have  felt  the  electric  and  mys- 
tic influence  of  that  strange  "phantom  of  glory" 
forever  haunting  martyred  Poland.  Even  in  the 
gayest  hours  of  festival,  it  appalls  and  saddens  all 
hearts.  Whenever  a  tale  of  past  renown,  a  com- 
memoration of  slaughtered  heroes  is  given,  an  allu- 
sion to  national  prowess  is  made,  its  resurrection 
from  the  grave  is  instantaneous  ;  it  takes  its  place  in 
the  banquet-hall,  spreading  an  electric  terror  min- 
gled with  intense  admiration  ;  a  shudder,  wild  and 
mystic  as  that  which  seizes  upon  the  peasants  of 


46 


CHOPIN. 


Ukraine,  when  the  "  Beautiful  Virgin,"  white  as 
Death,  with  her  girdle  of  crimson,  is  suddenly  seen 
gliding  through  their  tranquil  village,  while  her  sha- 
dowy hand  marks  with  blood  the  door  of  each  cot- 
tage doomed  to  destruction. 

During  many  centuries,  the  civilization  of  Poland 
was  entirely  peculiar  and  aboriginal  ;  it  did  not  re- 
semble that  of  any  other  country  ;  and,  indeed,  it 
seems  destined  to  remain  forever  unique  in  its  kind. 
As  different  from  the  German  feudalism  which  neigh- 
boured it  upon  the  West,  as  from  the  conquering  spirit 
of  the  Turks  which  disquieted  it  on  the  East,  it  re- 
sembled Europe  in  its  chivalric  Christianity,  in  its 
eagerness  to  attack  the  infidel,  even  while  receiving 
instruction  in  sagacious  policy,  in  military  tactics, 
and  sententious  reasoning,  from  the  masters  of  Byzan- 
tium. By  the  assumption,  at  the  same  time,  of  the 
heroic  qualities  of  Mussulman  fanaticism  and  the 
sublime  virtues  of  Christian  sanctity  and  humility,* 
it  mingled  the  most  heterogeneous  elements,  and 
thus  planted  in  its  very  bosom  the  seeds  of  ruin  and 
decay. 

The  general  culture  of  Latin  letters,  the  knowledge 

*  It  is  well  known  with  how  many  glorious  names  Poland  has 
enriched  the  mavtyrology  of  the  Church.  In  memorial  of  the  count- 
less martyrs  it  had  offered,  the  Roman  Church  granted  to  the  order 
of  Trinitarians,  or  Redemptorist  Brothers,  whose  duty  it  was  to 
redeem  from  slavery  the  Christians  who  had  fallen  into  tbe  hands 
of  the  Infidels,  the  distinction,  only  granted  to  this  nation,  of  wear- 
ing a  crimson  belt.  These  victims  to  benevolence  were  generally 
from  the  establishments  near  the  frontiers,  such  as  those  of  Kamie- 
niec-Podolski. 


C  H  O  P  I  N. 


47 


of  and  love  for  Italian  and  French  literature,  gave 
a  lustre  and  classical  polish  to  the  startling  con- 
trasts -vve  have  attempted  to  describe.  Such  a 
civilization  must  necessarily  impress  all  its  mani- 
festations with  its  own  seal.  As  was  natural  for  a 
nation  always  engaged  in  war,  forced  to  reserve  its 
deeds  of  prowess  and  valor  for  its  enemies  upon  the 
field  of  battle,  it  was  not  famed  for  the  romances  of 
knight-errantry,  for  tournaments  or  jousts  ;  it  re- 
placed the  excitement  and  splendor  of  the  mimic  war 
by  characteristic  fêtes,  in  which  the  gorgcousness  of 
personal  display  formed  the  principal  feature. 

There  is  certainly  nothing  new  in  the  assertion, 
that  national  character  is,  in  some  degree,  revealed 
by  national  dances.  We  believe,  however,  there  are 
none  in  which  the  creative  impulses  can  be  so  readily 
deciphered,  or  the  ensemble  traced  with  so  much 
simplicity,  as  in  the  Polonaise.  In  consequence  of 
the  varied  episodes  which  each  individual  was  ex- 
pected to  insert  in  the  general  frame,  the  national 
intuitions  were  revealed  with  the  greatest  diversity. 
AVhen  these  distinctive  marks  disappeared,  when  the 
original  flame  no  longer  burned,  when  no  one  in- 
vented scenes  for  the  intermediary  pauses,  when  to 
accomplish  mechanically  the  obligatory  circuit  of  a 
saloon,  was  all  that  was  requisite,  nothing  but  the 
skeleton  of  departed  glory  remained. 

We  would  certainly  have  hesitated  to  speak  of  tlie 
Polonaise,  after  the  exquisite  verses  which  Mickie- 
wijcz  has  consecrated  to  it,  and  the  admirable  de- 
scription which  he  has  given  of  it  in  the  last  Canto 
5 


43  CHOPIN. 

of  the  Pan  Tadeusz,  but  that  this  description  is  to  be 
found  only  in  a  work  not  yet  translated,  and,  conse- 
quently, only  known  to  the  compatriots  of  the  Poet.* 
It 'would  have  been  presumptuous,  even  under  an- 
other form,  to  have  ventured  upon  a  subject  already 
sketched  and  colored  by  such  a  hand,  in  his  romantic 
Epic,  in  which  beauties  of  the  highest  order  are  set 
in  such  a  scene  as  KuysdUel  loved  to  paint  ;  where  a 
ray  of  sunshine,  thrown  through  heavy  storm-clouds, 
falls  upon  one  of  those  strange  trees  never  wanting 
in  his  pictures,  a  birch  shattered  by  lightning,  while 
its  snowy  bark  is  deeply  stained,  as  if  dyed  in  the 
blood  flowing  from  its  fresh  and  gaping  wounds. 
The  scenes  of  Pan  Tadeusz  are  laid  at  the  beginning 
of  the  present  century,  when  many  still  lived  who 
retained  the  profound  feeling  and  grave  deportment 
of  the  ancient  Poles,  mingled  with  those  who  were 
even  then  under  the  sway  of  the  graceful  or  giddyiug 
passions  of  modern  origin.  These  striking  and  con- 
trasting types  existing  together  at  that  period,  are 
now  rapidly  disappearing  before  that  universal  con- 
ventionalism which  is  at  present  seizing  and  moulding 
the  higher  classes  in  all  cities  and  in  all  countries. 
Without  doubt,  Chopin  frequently  drew  fresh  in- 
spiration from  this  noble  poem,  whose  scenes  so 
forcibly  depict  the  emotions  he  best  loved  to  repro- 
duce. 

The  primitive  music  of  the  Polonaise,  of  which  we 
have  no  example  of  greater  age  than  a  century,  pos- 
sesses but  little  value  for  art.    Those  Polonaises 
*  It  has  been  translated  into  German.—!'. 


c  n  0  r  I N. 


49 


■wliicli  do  not  boar  .tlie  names  of  their  authors,  but 
are  frequently  marked  with  the  name  of  some  hero, 
thus  indicating  their  date,  are  generally  grave  and 
sweet.  The  Polonaise  styled  "  de  Kosciuszko,"  is 
the  most  universally  known,  and  is  so  closely  linked 
with  the  memories  of  his  epoch,  that  we  have  known 
ladies  who  could  not  hear  it  without  breaking  into 
sobs.  The  Princess  F.  L,,  who  had  been  loved  by 
Kosciuszko,  in  her  last  days,  when  age  had  enfeebled 
all  her  faculties,  was  only  sensible  to  the  chords  of 
this  piece,  which  her  trembling  hands  could  still  find 
upon  the  key-board,  though  the  dim  and  aged  eye 
could  no  longer  see  the  keys.  Some  contemporary 
Polonaises  are  of  a  character  so  sad,  that  they  might 
almost  be  supposed  to  accompany  a  funeral  train. 

The  Polonaises  of  Count  Oginski*  which  next  ap- 
peared, soon  attained  great  popularity  through  the 
introduction  of  an  air  of  seductive  languor  into  the 
melancholy  strains.  Full  of  gloom  as  they  still  are, 
they  soothe  by  their  delicious  tenderness,  by  their 
naïve  and  mournful  grace.  The  martial  rhythm 
grows  more  feeble  ;  the  march  of  the  stately  train, 
no  longer  rustling  in  its  pride  of  state,  is  hushed  in 
reverential  silence,  in  solemn  thought,  as  if  its 
course  wound  on  through  graves,  whose  sad  swells 
extinguish  smiles  and  humiliate  pride.    Love  alone 

*  Araongr  the  Polonais^  of  Count  Oginski,  the  one  in  F  Major 
has  especially  retained  its  celebrity.  It  was  publislied  with  a  vig- 
nette, representing  the  author  in  the  act  of  blowing  his  brains  out 
with  a  pistol.  This  was  merely  a  romantic  commentary,  which 
was  for  a  long  time  mistaken  for  a  fact. 


50 


CHOPIN. 


survives,  as  thé  mourners  wander  among  the  mounds 
of  earth  so  freshly  heaped  that  the  grass  has  not  yet 
grown  upon  them,  repeating  the  sad  refrain  which 
the  Bard  of  Erin  caught  from  the  wild  breezes  of 
the  sea  : 

"Love  born  of  sorrow,  like  sorrow  is  true  !" 

In  the  well  known  pages  of  Oginski  may  be  found 
the  sighing  of  analogous  thoughts  :  the  very  breath 
of  love  is  sad,  and  only  revealed  through  the  melan- 
choly lustre  of  eyes  bathed  in  tears. 

At  a  somewhat  later  state,  the  graves  and  grassy 
mounds  were  all  passed,  they  are  seen  only  in  the 
distance  of  the  shadowy  background.  The  living 
cannot  always  weep  ;  life  and  animation  again  appear, 
mournful  thoughts  changed  into  soothing  memories, 
return  on  the  ear,  sweet  as  distant  echos.  The  sad- 
dened train  of  the  living  no  longer  hush  their  breath 
as  they  glide  on  with  noiseless  precaution,  as  if  not 
to  disturb  the  sleep  of  those  who  have  just  departed, 
over  whose  graves  the  turf  is  not  yet  green  ;  the 
imagination  no  longer  evokes  only  the  gloomy  shad- 
ows of  the  past.  In  the  Polonaises  of  Lipinski  we 
hear  the  music  of  the  pleasure-loving  heart  once  more 
beating  joyously,  giddily,  happily,  as  it  had  done 
before  the  days  of  disaster  and  defeat.  The  melodies 
breathe  more  and  more  the  perfume  of  happy  youth  ; 
love,  young  love,  sighs  around,  ffixpauding  into  ex- 
pressive songs  of  vague  and  dreamy  character,  they 
speak  but  to  youthful  hearts,  cradling  them  in  poetic 
fictions,  in  soft  illusions.    No  longer  destined  to 


CHOPIN. 


51 


cadence  the  steps  of  the  high  and  grave  personages 
who  ceased  to  bear  their  part  in  these  dances,*  they 
are  addressed  to  romantic  imaginations,  dreaming 
rather  of  rapture  than  of  renown.  Meyseder  ad- 
vanced upon  this  descending  path  ;  liis  dances,  fall 
of  lively  coquetry,  reflect  only  the  magic  charms  of 
youth  and  beauty.  His  numerous  imitations  have 
inundated  us  with  pieces  of  music,  called  Polonaises, 
but  which  have  no  characteristics  to  justify  the  name. 

The  pristine  and  vigorous  brilliancy  of  the  Polo- 
naise was  again  suddenly  given  to  it  by  a  composer 
of  true  genius.  Weber  made  of  it  a  Dithyrambic, 
in  which  the  glittering  display  of  vanished  magnifi- 
cence again  appeared  in  its  ancient  glory.  He 
united  all  the  resources  of  his  art  to  ennoble  the 
formula  which  had  been  so  misrepresented  and 
debased,  to  fill  it  with  the  spirit  of  the  past  ;  not 
seeking  to  recall  the  character  of  ancient  music,  he 
transported  into  music  the  characteristics  of  ancient 
Poland.  U^ing  the  melody  as  a  recital,  he  ac- 
centuated the  rhythm,  he  colored  his  composition, 
through  his  modulations,  with  a  profusion  of  hues  not 
only  suitable  to  his  subject,  but  imperiously  de- 
manded by  it.  Life,  warmth,  and  passion  again  cir- 
culated in  his  Polonaises,  yet  he  did  not  deprive  them 
of  the  haughty  charm,  the  ceremonious  and  magiste- 
rial dignity,  the  natural  yet  elaborate  majesty,  which 
are  essential  parts  of  their  character.  The  cadences 
are  marked  by  chords,  which  fall  upon  the  ear  like 

•  Bishops  and  Primates  formerly  assisted  in  these  dances;  at  a 
later  date  the  Church  dignitaries  took  no  part  in  them. 


52 


c  n  o  p  I N. 


the  rattling  of  swords  drawn  from  their  scabbards. 
The  soft,  warm,  effeminate  pleadings  of  love  give 
place  to  the  murmuring  of  deep,  fall,  bass  voices, 
proceeding  from  manly  breasts  used  to  command  ;  we 
may  almost  hear,  in  reply,  the  wild  and  distant  neigh- 
ings  of  the  steeds  of  the  desert,  as  they  toss  the  long 
manes  around  their  haughty  heads,  impatiently  paw- 
ing the  ground,  with  their  lustrous  eye  beaming  with 
intelligence  and  full  of  fire,  while  they  bear  with 
stately  grace  the  trailing  caparisons  embroidered  with 
turquoise  and  rubies,  with  which  the  Polish  Seigneurs 
loved  to  adorn  them.*  How  did  Weber  divine  the 
Poland  of  other  days  ?  Had  he  indeed  the  power  to 
call  from  the  grave  of  the  past,  the  scenes  which  we 

*  Among  the  treasures  of  Prince  Radziwill  at  Nieswirz  were  to  be 
seen,  in  the  days  of  former  splendor,  twelve  sets  of  horse  trappings, 
each  of  a  différent  color,  incrusted  with  precious  stones.  The 
twelve  Apostles,  life  size,  in  massive  silver,  were  also  to  be  seen 
there.  This  luxury  will  cease  to  astonish  us  when  we  consider  that 
the  family  of  Radziwill  was  descended  from  the  last  Grand  Pontiff 
of  Lithaania,  to  whom,  when  he  embraced  Christianity,  were  given 
all  the  forests  and  plains  which  had  before  been  consecrated  to  the 
worship  of  the  heathen  Deities  ;  and  that  toward  the  close  of  the  last 
century,  the  family  still  possessed  eight  hundred  thousand  serfs, 
although  its  riches  had  then  considerably  diminished.  Among 
the  collection  of  treasures  of  which  we  speak,  was  an  exceedingly 
curious  relic,  which  is  still  in  existence.  It  is  a  picture  of  St.  John 
the  Baptist,  surrounded  by  a  Bannerol  bearing  the  inscription; 
"  In  the  name  of  the  Lord,  John,  thou  shalt  be  Conqueror."  It  was 
found  by  Jean  Sobieski  himself,  after  the  victory  which  he  had  won, 
under  the  walls  of  Vienna,  in  the  tent  of  the  Visier  Kara  Mustapha.  It 
was  presented  after  his  death,  by  Marie  d'Arquin,  to  a  Prince  Rad- 
ziwill, with  an  inscription  in  her  own  hand-writing  which  indicates 
its  origin,  and  the  presentation  which  she  makes  of  it.  The  auto- 
graph, with  the  royal  seal,  is  on  the  reverse  side  of  the  canvas. 


CHOPIN. 


53 


have  just  contemplated,  that  he  was  thus  able  to 
clothe  them  with  life,  to  renew  their  earlier  associa- 
tions? Yain  questions  !  Genius  is  always  endowed 
with  its  own  sacred  intuitions  !  Poetry  ever  reveals 
to  her  chosen  the  secrets  of  her  wild  domain  ! 

All  the  poetry  contained  in  the  Polonaises  had, 
like  a  rich  sap,  been  so  fully  expressed  from  them  by 
the  genius  of  AYeber,  they  had  been  handled  with  a 
mastery  so  absolute,  that  it  was,  indeed,  a  dangerous 
and  difhcult  thing  to  attempt  them,  with  the  slightest 
hope  of  producing  the  same  effect.  lie  has,  however, 
been  surpassed  in  this  species  of  composition  by 
Chopin,  not  only  in  the  number  and  variety  of  works 
in  this  style,  but  also  in  the  more  touching  character 
of  the  handling,  and  the  new  and  varied  processes  of 
harmony.  Both  in  construction  and  spirit,  Chopin's 
Polonaise  in  A,  with  the  one  in  A  flat  Major,  re- 
sembles very  much  the  one  of  Weber's  in  E  Major. 
In  others  he  relinquished  this  broad  style  :  Shall 
we  say  always  with  a  more  decided  success?  In 
such  a  question,  decision  were  a  thorny  thing.  Who 
shall  restrict  the  rights  of  a  poet  over  the  various 
phases  of  his  subject  ?  Even  in  the  midst  of  joy,  may 
he  not  be  permitted  to  be  gloomy  and  oppressed? 
After  having  chanted  the  splendor  of  glory,  may  he 
not  sing  of  grief?  After  having  rejoiced  with  the 
victorious,  may  he  not  mourn  with  the  vanquished? 
We  may,  without  any  fear  of  contradiction,  assert, 
that  it  is  not  one  of  the  least  merits  of  Chopin,  that 
he  has,  consecutively,  embraced  all  the  phases  of 
which  the  theme  is  susceptible,  that  he  has  succeeded 


54 


CHOPIN. 


in  eliciting  from  it  all  its  brilliancy,  in  awakening 
from  it  all  its  sadness.  The  variety  of  the  moods  of 
feeling  to  which  he  was  himself  subject,  aided  him  in 
the  reproduction  and  comprehension  of  such  a  multi- 
plicity of  views.  It  would  be  impossible  to  follow  the 
varied  transformations  occurring  in  these  composi- 
tions, with  their  pervading  melancholy,  without 
admiring  the  fecundity  of  his  creative  force,  even 
when  not  fully  sustained  by  the  higher  powers  of  his 
inspiration.  He  did  not  always  confine  himself  to 
the  consideration  of  the  pictures  presented  to  him  by 
his  imagination  and  memory,  taken  en  masse,  or 
as  a  united  whole.  More  than  once,  while  contem- 
plating the  brilliant  groups  and  throngs  flowing  on 
before  him,  has  he  yielded  to  the  strange  charm  of 
some  isolated  figure,  arresting  it  in  its  course  by  the 
magic  of  his  gaze,  and,  suff'ering  the  gay  crowds  to 
pass  on,  he  has  given  himself  up  with  delight  to  the 
divination  of  its  mystic  revelations,  while  he  con- 
tinued to  weave  his  incantations  and  spells  only  for 
the  entranced  Sybil  of  his  song. 

ITis  Grand  Polonaise  in  F  sharp  Xinor,  must  be 
ranked  among  his  most  energetic  compositions.  He 
has  inserted  in  it  a  Mazourka.  Had  he  not  fright- 
ened the  frivolous  world  of  fashionable  life,  by  the 
gloomy  grotesqueness  with  which  he  introduced  it  in 
an  incantation  so  fantastic,  this  mode  might  have 
become  an  ingenious  caprice  for  the  ball-room.  It  is  a 
most  original  production,  exciting  us  like  the  recital 
of  some  broken  dream,  made,  after  a  night  of  rest- 
lessness, by  the  first  dull,  gray,  cold,  leaden  rays  of 


CHOPIN. 


55 


a  winter's  sunrise.  It  is  a  dream-poem,  in  which  the 
impressions  and  objects  succeed  each  other  with  start- 
ling incoherency  and  with  the  wildest  transitions,  re- 
minding us  of  what  Byron  says  in  his  Dream:" 

"...  Dreams  in  their  development  have  breath, 
Aad  tears,  and  tortures,  and  the  touch  of  joy  ; 
They  leave  a  weight  upon  our  waking  thoughts, 
*  *  »  *  *  *  * 

Aud  look  like  heralds  of  Eternity." 

The  principal  motiveis  a wierd  air,  dark  as  the  lurid 
hour  which  precedes  a  hurricane,  in  which  we  catch 
the  fierce  exclamations  of  exasperation,  mingled  with 
a  bold  defiance,  recklessly  hurled  at  the  stormy  ele- 
ments. The  prolonged  return  of  a  tonic,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  each  measure,  reminds  us  of  the  re- 
peated roar  of  artillery — as  if  we  caught  the  sounds 
from  some  dread  battle  waging  in  the  distance.  After 
the  termination  of  this  note,  a  series  of  the  most  un- 
usual chords  are  unrolled  through  measure  after  mea- 
sure. We  know  nothing  analogous,  to  the  striking 
effect  produced  by  this,  in  the  compositions  of  the 
greatest  masters.  This  passage  is  suddenly  interrupted 
by  a  Scène  Champêtre,  a  Mazourka  in  the  style  of  an 
Idyl,  full  of  the  perfume  of  lavender  and  sweet  mar- 
joram ;  but  which,  far  from  efi'acing  the  memory  of 
the  profound  sorrow  which  had  before  been  awakened, 
only  augments,  by  its  ironical  and  bitter  contrast,  our 
emotions  of  pain  to  such  a  degree,  that  we  feel  almost 
solaced  when  the  first  phrase  returns  ;  and,  free  from 
the  disturbing  contradiction  of  a  naive,  simple,  and 
inglorious  happiness,  we  may  again  sympathize  with 


56 


CHOPIN. 


the  noble  and  imposing  woe  of  a  high,  yet  fatal 
struggle.  This  improvisation  terminates  like  a  dream, 
Mithout  other  conclusion  than  a  convulsive  shudder; 
leaving  the  soul  under  the  strangest,  the  wildest,  the 
most  subduing  impressions. 

The  ^^Polonaise-Fantaisie''  is  to  be  classed  among 
the  works  v^^hich  belong  to  the  latest  period  of 
Chopin's  compositions,  v/hich  are  all  more  or  less 
marked  by  a  feverish  and  restless  anxiety.  No  bold 
and  brilliant  pictures  are  to  be  found  in  it  ;  the  loud 
tramp  of  a  cavalry  accustomed  to  victory  is  no  longer 
heard  ;  no  more  resound  the  heroic  chants  muffled  by 
no  visions  of  defeat — the  bold  tones  suited  to  the  au- 
dacity of  those  who  were  always  victorious.  A  deep 
melancholy — ever  broken  by  startled  movements,  by 
sudden  alarms,  by  disturbed  rest,  by  stifled  sighs — 
reigns  throughout.  "VVe  are  surrounded  by  such 
scenes  and  feelings  as  might  arise  among  those  who 
had  been  surprised  and  encompassed  on  all  sides  by 
an  ambuscade,  the  vast  sweep  of  whose  horizon  ix;- 
vcals  not  a  single  ground  for  hope,  and  whose  despair 
had  giddied  the  brain,  like  a  draught  of  that  wine 
of  Cyprus  which  gives  a  more  instinctive  rapidity  to 
all  our  gestures,  a  keener  point  to  all  our  words,  a 
more  subtle  flame  to  all  our  emotions,  and  excites 
the  mind  to  a  pitch  of  irritability  approaching  in- 
sanity. 

Such  pictures  possess  but  little  real  value  for  art. 
Like  all  descriptions  of  moments  of  extremity,  of 
agonies,  of  death  rattles,  of  contractions  of  the 
muscles  where  all  elasticity  is  lost,  where  the  nerves, 


C  H  0  P  I  xV. 


57 


ceasing  to  be  the  organs  of  the  human  will,  reduce 
man  to  a  passive  victim  of  despair  ;  they  only  serve 
to  torture  the  soul.  Deplorable  visions,  which  the 
artist  should  admit  with  extreme  circumspection 
within  the  graceful  circle  of  his  charmed  realm  I 


CHAPTER  III. 


Chopin's  Mazourkas — Polish  Ladies — Jrazourka  iu  Poland — Tortured 
Motives — Early  life  of  Chopin — Zal. 

In  all  that  regards  expression,  tlie  Mazourlcas  of 
Chopin  differ  greatly  from  his  Polonaises.  Indeed 
they  are  entirely  unlike  in  character.  The  bold  and 
vigorous  coloring  of  the  Polonaises  gives  place  to  the 
most  delicate,  tender,  and  evanescent  shades  in  the 
Mazourkas.  A  nation,  considered  as  a  whole,  in  its 
united,  characteristic,  and  single  impetus,  is  no  longer 
placed  before  us  ;  the  character  and  impressions  now 
become  purely  personal,  always  individualized  and 
divided.  No  longer  is  the  feminine  and  elFeminato 
element  driven  back  into  shadowy  recesses.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  brought  out  in  the  boldest  relief,  nay, 
it  is  brought  into  such  prominent  importance  that  all 
else  disappears,  or,  at  most,  serves  only  as  its  accom- 
paniment. The  days  are  now  passed  when  to  say 
that  a  woman  was  charming,  they  called  her  grateful 
[wdzieczna);  the  very  word  charm  being  derived 
from  wdzïeJci:  gratitude.  Woman  no  longer  ap- 
pears as  a  protégée,  but  as  a  queen  ;  she  no  longer 
forms  only  the  better  part  of  life,  she  now  entirely  fills 
it.  Man  is  still  ardent,  proud,  and  presumptuous, 
but  he  yields  himself  up  to  a  delirium  of  pleasure. 
This  very  pleasure  is,  however,  always  stamped  with 
melancholy.  Both  the  music  of  the  national  airs, 
and  the  words,  which  are  almost  always  joined  with 
58 


c  u  0  r  I N. 


50 


them,  express  mingled  emotions  of  pain  and  joy. 
This  strange  but  attractive  contrast  was  caused  by 
the  necessity  of  "  consoling  misery'^  [cieszyc  hide), 
wliicb  necessity  induced  them  to  seek  the  magical 
distraction  of  the  graceful  Mazourka,  with  its  tran- 
sient delusions.  The  words  which  were  sung  to  these 
melodies,  gave  them  a  capability  of  linking  themselves 
with  the  sacred  associations  of  memory,  in  a  far 
higher  degree  than  is  usual  with  ordinary  dance-music. 
They  were  sung  and  re-sung  a  thousand  times  in  the 
days  oF  buoyant  youth,  by  fresh  and  sonorous  voices, 
in  the  hours  of  solitude,  or  in  those  of  happy  idleness. 
Linking  the  most  varying  associations  with  the 
melody,  they  were  again  and  again  carelessly  hummed 
when  traveling  through  forests,  or  ploughing  the 
deep  in  ships  ;  perhaps  they  were  listlessly  upon  the 
lips  when  some  startling  emotion  has  suddenly  sur- 
prised the  singer  ;  when  an  unexpected  meeting,  a 
long-desired  grouping,  an  unhoped-for  word,  has 
thrown  an  undying  light  upon  the  heart,  consecrating 
hours  destined  to  live  forever,  and  ever  to  shine  on 
in  the  memory,  even  through  the  most  distant  and 
gloomy  recesses  of  the  constantly  darkening  future. 

Such  inspirations  were  used  by  Chopin  in  the  most 
happy  manner,  and  greatly  enriched  with  the  treasures 
of  his  handling  and  style.  Cutting  these  diamonds 
so  as  to  present  a  thousand  facets,  he  brought  all 
their  latent  fire  to  light,  and  re-uniting  even  their 
glittering  dust,  he  mounted  them  in  gorgeous  caskets. 
Indeed  what  settings  could  he  have  chosen  better 
adapted  to  enhance  the  value  of  his  early  recollections, 
6 


60 


CHOPIN. 


or  which  would  have  given  him  more  efificient  aid  ia 
creating  poems,  in  arranging  scenes,  in  depicting 
episodes,  in  producing  romances  ?  Such  associations 
and  national  memories  are  indebted  to  him  for  a  reign 
far  more  extensive  than  the  laud  which  gave  them 
birth.  Placing  them  among  those  idealized  types 
which  art  has  touched  and  consecrated  with  her  re- 
splendent lustre,  he  has  gifted  them  with  immor- 
tality. 

In  order  fully  to  understand  how  perfectly  this 
setting  suited  the  varying  emotions  which  Chopin 
had  succeeded  in  displaying  in  all  the  magic  of  their 
rainbow  hues,  we  must  have  seen  the  Mazourka 
danced  in  Poland,  because  it  is  only  there  that  it  is 
possible  to  catch  the  haughty,  yet  tender  and  allur 
ing,  character  of  this  dance.  The  cavalier,  always 
chosen  by  the  lady,  seizes  her  as  a  conquest  of  which 
he  is  proud,  striving  to  exhibit  her  loveliness  to  the 
admiration  of  his  rivals,  before  he  whirls  her  off  in 
an  entrancing  and  ardent  embrace,  through  the  ten- 
derness of  which  the  defiant  expression  of  the  victor 
still  gleams,  mingling  with  the  blushing  yet  gratified 
vanity  of  the  prize,  whose  beauty  forms  the  glory  of 
his  triumph.  There  are  few  more  delightful  scenes 
than  a  ball  in  Poland.  After  the  Mazourka  has 
commenced,  the  attention,  in  place  of  being  distracted 
by  a  multitude  of  people  jostling  against  each  other 
without  grace  or  order,  is  fascinated  by  one  couple  of 
equal  beauty,  darting  forward,  like  twin  stars,  in  free 
and  unimpeded  space.  As  if  in  the  pride  of  defi- 
ance, the  cavalier  accentuates  his  steps,  quits  his 


CHOPIN. 


61 


partner  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  contemplate  her  with 
renewed  delight,  rejoins  lier  with  passionate  eager- 
ness, or  whirls  himself  rapidly  round,  as  though  over- 
come with  the  sudden  joy  and  yielding  to  the  deli- 
cious giddiness  of  rapture.  Sometimes,  two  couples 
start  at  the  same  moment,  after  which  a  change  of 
partners  may  occur  between  them  ;  or  a  third  cava- 
lier may  present  himself,  and,  clapping  his  hands, 
claim  one  of  the  ladies  as  his  partner.  The  queens 
of  the  festival  are  in  turn  claimed  by  the  most  bril- 
liant gentlemen  present,  courting  the  honor  of  leading 
them  through  the  mazes  of  the  dance. 

AVhile  in  the  Waltz  and  Galop,  the  dancers  are 
isolated,  and  only  confused  tableaux  are  offered  to 
the  bystanders  ;  while  the  Quadrille  is  only  a  kind  of 
pass  at  arms  made  with  foils,  where  attack  and  defence 
proceed  with  equal  indifference,  where  the  most  non- 
chalant display  of  grace  is  answered  with  the  same 
nonchalance  ;  while  the  vivacity  of  the  Polka,  charm- 
ing, we  confess,  may  easily  become  equivocal  ;  while 
Fandangos,  Tarantulas  and  Minuets,  are  merely 
little  love-dramas,  only  interesting  to  those  who  ex- 
ecute them,  in  which  the  cavalier  has  nothing  to  do 
but  to  display  his  partner,  and  the  spectators  have 
no  share  but  to  follow,  tediously  enough,  coquetries 
whose  obligatory  movements  are  not  addressed  to 
them  ; — in  the  Mazourka,  on  the  contrary,  they  have 
also  their  part,  and  the  rôle  of  the  cavalier  yields 
neither  in  grace  nor  importance  to  that  of  his  fair 
partner. 

The  long  intervals  which  separate  the  successive 


62 


CHOPIN. 


appearance  of  the  pairs  being  reserved  for  conversa- 
tion among  the  dancers,  when  their  turn  comes 
again,  the  scene  passes  no  longer  only  among  them- 
selves, but  extends  from  them  to  the  spectators.  It 
is  to  them  that  the  cavalier  exhibits  the  vanity  he 
feels  in  having  been  able  to  win  the  preference  of 
the  lady  who  has  selected  him  ;  it  is  in  their  presence 
she  has  deigned  to  show  him  this  honor  ;  she  strives 
to  please  them,  because  the  triumph  of  charming 
them  is  reflected  upon  her  partner,  and  their  ap- 
plause may  be  made  a  part  of  the  most  flattering  and 
insinuating  coquetry.  Indeed,  at  the  close  of  the 
dance,  she  seems  to  make  him  a  formal  offering  of 
their  sufl'rages  in  her  favor.  She  bounds  rapidly  to- 
wards him  and  rests  upon  his  arm, — a  movement  sus- 
ceptible of  a  thousand  varying  shades  which  feminine 
tact  and  subtle  feeling  well  know  how  to  modify, 
ringing  every  change,  from  the  most  impassioned  and 
impulsive  warmth  of  manner  to  an  air  of  the  most 
complete  "  abandon." 

What  varied  movements  succeed  each  other  in  the 
course  round  the  ball-room  !  Commencing  at  first 
with  a  kind  of  timid  hesitation,  the  lady  sways  about 
like  a  bird  about  to  take  flight;  gliding  for  some 
time  on  one  foot  only,  like  a  skater,  she  skims  the  ice 
of  the  polished  floor  ;  then,  running  forward  like  a 
sportive  child,  she  suddenly  takes  wùng.  Raising  her 
veiling  eyelids,  with  head  erect,  with  swelling  bosom 
and  elastic  bounds,  she  cleaves  the  air  as  the  light 
bark  cleaves  the  waves,  and,  like  an  agile  wood- 
nymph,  seems  to  sport  with  space.    Again  she  re- 


CHOPIN. 


G3 


commences  her  timid  graceful  gliding,  looks  round 
among  the  spectators,  sends  sighs  and  words  to  the 
most  highly  favored,  then  extending  her  white  arms 
to  the  partner  who  comes  to  rejoin  her,  again  begins 
her  vigorous  steps  which  transport  her  with  magical 
rapidity  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  ball-room. 
She  glides,  she  runs,  she  flies  ;  emotion  colors  her 
cheek,  brightens  her  eye  ;  fatigue  bends  her  flexile 
form,  retards  her  winged  feet,  until,  panting  and  ex- 
hausted, she  softly  sinks  and  reclines  in  the  arms  of 
her  partner,  who,  seizing  her  with  vigorous  arm, 
raises  her  a  moment  in  the  air,  before  finishing  with 
her  the  last  intoxicating  round. 

In  this  triumphal  course,  in  which  may  be  seen  a 
thousand  Atalantas  as  beautiful  as  the  dreams  of 
Ovid,  many  changes  occur  in  the  figures.  The 
couples,  in  the  first  chain,  commence  by  giving  each 
other  the  hand  ;  then  forming  themselves  into  a  circle, 
whose  rapid  rotation  dazzles  the  eye,  they  wreathe  a 
living  crown,  in  which  each  lady  is  the  only  flower 
of  its  own  kind,  while  the  glowing  and  varied  colors 
are  heightened  by  the  uniform  costume  of  the  men, 
the  effect  resembling  that  of  the  dark-green  foliage 
with  which  nature  relieves  her  glowing  buds  and 
fragrant  bloom.  They  all  then  dart  forward  together, 
with  a  sparkling  animation,  a  jealous  emulation,  de- 
filing before  the  spectators  as  in  a  review — an  enu- 
meration of  which  would  scarcely  yield  in  interest  to 
those  given  us,  by  Homer  and  Tasso,  of  the  armies 
about  to  range  themselves  in  the  front  of  battle  ! 
At  the  close  of  an  hour  or  two,  the  same  circle  again 


64 


CHOPIN. 


forms  to  end  the  dance;  and  on  those  days  when 
amusement  and  pleasure  fill  all  with  an  excited  gay- 
ety,  sparkling  and  glittering  through  those  impressi- 
ble temperaments  like  an  aurora  in  a  midnight  sky, 
a  general  promenade  is  recommenced,  and  in  its  ac- 
celerated movements,  we  cannot  detect  the  least 
symptom  of  fatigue  among  all  these  delicate  yet  en- 
during women  ;  as  if  their  light  limbs  possessed  the 
flexible  tenacity  and  elasticity  of  steel  ! 

As  if  by  intuition,  all  the  Polish  women  possess 
the  magical  science  of  this  dance.  Even  the  least 
richly  gifted  among  them  know  how  to  draw  from  it 
new  charms.  If  the  graceful  ease  and  noble  dig- 
nity of  those  conscious  of  their  own  power  are  full 
of  attraction  in  it,  timidity  and  modesty  are  equally 
full  of  interest.  This  is  so  because  of  all  other 
dances,  it  breathes  most  of  pure  love.  As  the  dancers 
are  always  conscious  that  the  gaze  of  the  spectators 
is  fastened  upon  them,  addressing  themselves  con- 
stantly to  them,  there  reigns  in  its  very  essence  a 
mixture  of  innate  tenderness  and  mutual  vanity,  as 
full  of  delicacy  and  propriety  as  of  allurement. 

The  latent  and  unknown  poetry,  which  was  only 
indicated  in  the  original  Polish  Mazourkas,  was 
divined,  developed,  and  brought  to  light,  by  Chopin. 
Prctierving  their  rhythm,  he  ennobled  their  melody, 
enlarged  their  proportions  ;  and — in  order  to  paint 
more  fully  in  these  productions,  which  he  loved  to 
hear  us  call  "pictures  from  the  easel,"  the  innu- 
merable and  widely-differing  emotions  which  agitate 
the  heart  during  the  progress  of  this  dance,  above 


C  H  0  P  I  X. 


65 


all,  in  the  long  intervals  in  wbicli  the  cavalier  has  a 
right  to  retain  his  place  at  the  side  of  the  lady,  whom 
he  never  leaves — he  wrought  into  their  tissues  har- 
monic lights  and  shadows,  as  new  in  themselves  as 
were  the  subjects  to  which  he  adapted  them. 

Coquetries,  vanities,  fantasies,  inclinations,  elegies, 
vague  emotions,  passions,  conquests,  struggles  upon 
which  the  safety  or  favor  of  others  depend,  all — all, 
meet  in  this  dance.  How  difficult  it  is  to  form  a 
complete  idea  of  the  infinite  gradations  of  passion — 
sometimes  pausing,  sometimes  progressing,  some- 
times suing,  sometimes  ruling  !  In  the  country 
where  the  Mazourka  reigns  from  the  palace  to  the 
cottage,  these  gradations  are  pursued,  for  a  longer 
or  shorter  time,  with  as  much  ardor  and  enthusiasm 
as  malicious  trifling.  The  good  qualities  and  faults 
of  men  are  distributed  among  the  Poles  in  a  manner 
so  fantastic,  that,  although  the  essentials  of  char- 
acter may  remain  nearly  the  same  in  all,  they  vary 
and  shade  into  each  other  in  a  manner  so  extra- 
ordinary, that  it  becomes  almost  impossible  to  recog- 
nize or  distinguish  them.  In  natures  so  capriciously 
amalgamated,  a  wonderful  diversity  occurs,  adding 
to  the  investigations  of  curiosity,  a  spur  unknown  in 
other  lands  ;  making  of  every  new  relation  a  stimu- 
lating study,  and  lending  unwonted  interest  to  the 
lightest  incident.  Nothing  is  here  indifferent,  no- 
thing unheeded,  nothing  hacknied  !  Striking  con- 
trasts are  constantly  occurring  among  these  natures 
so  mobile  and  susceptible,  endowed  with  subtle,  keen 
and  vivid  intellects,  with  acute  sensibilities  increased 


66 


C  U  O  P  I  N. 


by  suffering  and  misfortune  ;  contrasts  throwing  lurid 
light  upon  hearts,  like  the  blaze  of  a  conflagratioa 
illumining  and  revealing  the  gloom  of  midnight. 
Here  chance  may  bring  together  those  who  but  a 
few  hours  before  were  strangers  to  each  other.  The 
ordeal  of  a  moment,  a  single  word,  may  separate 
hearts  long  united  ;  sudden  confidences  are  often 
forced  by  necessity,  and  invincible  suspicions  fre- 
quently held  iu  secret.  As  a  witty  woman  once 
remarked:  "They  often  play  a  comedy,  to  avoid  a 
tragedy  !"  That  which  has  never  been  uttered,  is 
yet  incessantly  divined  and  understood.  Generalities 
are  often  used  to  sharpen  interrogation,  while  con- 
cealing its  drift;  the  most  evasive  replies  are  care- 
fully listened  to,  like  the  ringing  of  metal,  as  a  test 
of  the  quality.  Often,  when  in  appearance  pleading 
for  others,  the  suitor  is  urging  his  own  cause  ;  and 
the  most  graceful  flattery  may  be  only  the  veil  ot 
disguised  exactions. 

But  caution  and  attention  become  at  last  weari- 
some to  natures  naturally  expansive  and  candid,  and 
a  tiresome  frivolity,  surprising  enough  before  the 
secret  of  its  reckless  indifference  has  been  divined, 
mingles  with  the  most  spiritual  refinement,  the  most 
poetic  sentiments,  the  most  real  causes  for  intense 
suffering,  as  if  to  mock  and  jeer  at  all  reality.  It  is 
difficult  to  analyse  or  appreciate  justly  this  frivolity, 
as  it  is  sometimes  real,  sometimes  only  assumed.  It 
makes  use  of  confusing  replies  and  strange  resources 
to  conceal  the  truth.  It  is  sometimes  justly,  some- 
times wrongfully  regarded  as  a  kind  of  veil  of  motley, 


CHOPIN. 


07 


whose  fantastic  tissue  needs  only  to  bo  slightly  torn 
to  reveal  more  than  one  hidden  or  sleeping  quality 
under  the  variegated  folds  of  gossamer.  It  often 
follows  from  such  causes,  that  eloquence  becomes 
only  a  sort  of  grave  badinage,  sparkling  with  spangles 
like  the  play  of  fireworks,  though  the  heart  of  the 
discourse  may  contain  nothing  earnest;  while  the 
lightest  raillery,  thrown  out  apparently  at  random, 
may  perhaps  be  most  sadly  serious.  Bitter  and 
intense  thought  follows  closely  upon  the  steps  of  the 
most  tempestuous  gayety  ;  nothing  indeed  remains 
absolutely  superficial,  though  nothing  is  presented 
without  an  artificial  polish.  In  the  discussions  con- 
stantly occurring  in  this  country,  where  conversation 
is  an  art  cultivated  to  the  highest  degree,  and 
occupying  much  time,  there  are  always  those  present, 
who,  whether  the  topic  discussed  be  grave  or  gay, 
can  pass  in  a  moment  from  smiles  to  tears,  from  joy 
to  sorrow,  leaving  the  keenest  observer  in  doubt 
which  is  most  real,  so  difficult  is  it  to  discern  the 
fictitious  from  the  true. 

In  such  varying  modes  of  thought,  where  ideas 
shift  like  quick  sands  upon  the  shores  of  the  sea, 
they  are  rarely  to  be  found  again  at  the  exact  point 
where  they  were  left.  This  fact  is  in  itself  sufficient 
to  give  interest  to  interviews  otherwise  insignificant. 
We  have  been  taught  this  in  Paris  by  some  natives 
of  Poland,  who  astonished  the  Parisians  by  their  skill 
in  "  fencing  in  paradox;"  an  art  in  which  every  Pole 
is  more  or  less  skillful,  as  he  has  felt  more  or  less 
interest  or  amusement  in  its  cultivation.    But  the 


68 


CHOPIN. 


inimitable  skill  with  which  they  are  constantly  able 
to  alternate  the  garb  of  truth  or  fiction  (like  touch- 
stones, more  certain  when  least  suspected,  the  one 
always  concealed  under  the  garb  of  the  other),  the 
force  which  expends  an  immense  amount  of  intellect 
upon  the  most  trivial  occasions,  as  Gil  Bias  made 
use  of  as  much  intelligence  to  find  the  means  of 
subsistence  for  a  single  day,  as  was  required  by 
the  Spanish  king  to  govern  the  whole  of  his  do- 
main ;  make  at  last  an  impression  as  painful  upon 
us  as  the  games  in  which  the  jugglers  of  India  ex- 
hibit such  wonderful  skill,  where  sharp  and  deadly 
arms  fly  glittering  through  the  air,  which  the  least 
error,  the  least  want  of  perfect  mastery,  would  make 
the  bright,  swift  messengers  of  certain  death  !  Such 
skill  is  full  of  concealed  anxiety,  terror,  and  anguish  ! 
From  the  complication  of  circumstances,  danger  may 
lurk  in  the  slightest  inadvertence,  in  the  least  im- 
prudence, in  possible  accidents,  while  powerful  assist- 
ance may  suddenly  spring  from  some  obscure  and 
forgotten  individual.  A  dramatic  interest  may  in- 
stantaneously arise  from  interviews  apparently  the 
most  trivial,  giving  an  unforeseen  phase  to  every 
relation.  A  misty  uncertainty  hovers  round  every 
meeting,  through  whose  clouds  it  is  difficult  to  seize 
the  contours,  to  fix  the  lines,  to  ascertain  the  present 
and  future  influence,  thus  rendering  intercourse  vague 
and  unintelligible,  filling  it  with  an  undefinable  and 
hidden  terror,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  with  an  insinuating 
flattery.  The  strong  currents  of  genuine  sympathy 
are  always  struggling  to  escape  from  the  weight  of  this 


C  U  0  P  I  N. 


60 


external  repression.  The  differing  impulses  of  vanity, 
love,  and  patriotism,  in  their  threefold  motives  of 
action,  are  forever  hurtling  against  each  other  in  all 
hearts,  leading  to  inextricable  confusion  of  thought 
and  feeling. 

What  mingling  emotions  are  concentrated  in  the 
accidental  meetings  of  the  Mazourka  I  It  can  sur- 
round, with  its  own  enchantment,  the  lightest  emotion 
of  the  heart,  while,  through  its  magic,  the  most  re- 
served, transitory,  and  trivial  rencounter  appeals  to 
the  imagination.  Could  it  be  otherwise  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  women  who  give  to  this  dance  that  in- 
imitable grace  and  suavity,  for  which,  in  less  happy 
countries,  they  struggle  in  vain  ?  In  very  truth  are 
not  the  Sclavic  women  utterly  incomparable  ?  There 
are  to  be  found  among  thera  those  whose  qualities 
and  virtues  are  so  incontestable,  so  absolute,  that 
they  are  acknowledged  by  all  ages,  and  by  all  coun- 
tries. Such  apparitions  are  always  and  everywhere 
rare.  The  women  of  Poland  are  generally  distin- 
guished by  an  originality  full  of  fire.  Parisians  in 
their  grace  and  culture,  Eastern  dancing  girls  in  their 
languid  fire,  they  have  perhaps  preserved  among 
them,  handed  down  from  mother  to  daughter,  the 
secret  of  the  burning  love  potions  possessed  in  the 
seraglios.  Their  charms  possess  the  strange  spell 
of  Asiatic  languor.  With  the  flames  of  spiritual  and 
intellectual  Houris  in  their  lustrous  eyes,  we  find  tlie 
luxurious  indolence  of  the  Sultana.  Their  manners 
caress  without  emboldening  ;  the  grace  of  their 
languid  movements  is  intoxicating  ;  they  allure  by 


70 


C  U  0  P  I  \. 


a  flexibility  of  form,  which  kuows  no  restraint,  save 
that  of  perfect  modesty,  and  which  etiquette  has 
never  succeeded  in  robbing  of  its  willowy  grace. 
They  win  upon  us  by  those  intonations  of  voice  which 
touch  the  heart,  and  fill  the  eye  with  tender  tears  ; 
by  those  sudden  and  graceful  impulses  which  recall 
the  spontaneity  and  beautiful  timidity  of  the  gazelle. 
Intelligent,  cultivated,  comprehending  every  thing 
with  rapidity,  skillful  in  the  use  of  all  they  have 
acquired  ;  they  are  nevertheless  as  superstitious 
and  fastidious  as  the  lovely  yet  ignorant  creatures 
adored  by  the  Arabian  prophet.  Generous,  devout, 
loving  danger  and  loving  love,  from  which  they 
demand  much,  and  to  which  they  grant  little  ; 
beyond  every  thing  they  prize  renown  and  glory. 
All  heroism  is  dear  to  them.  Perhaps  there  is  no 
one  among  them  who  would  think  it  possible  to 
pay  too  dearly  for  a  brilliant  action  ;  and  yet,  let  us 
say  it  with  reverence,  many  of  them  devote  to  obscu- 
rity their  most  holy  sacrifices,  their  most  sublime 
virtues.  But  however  exemplary  these  quiet  virtues 
of  the  home  life  may  be,  neither  the  miseries  of 
private  life,  nor  the  secret  sorrows  which  must 
prey  upon  souls  too  ardent  not  to  be  frequently 
wounded,  can  diminish  the  wonderful  vivacity  of  their 
emotions,  which  they  know  how  to  communicate  with 
the  infallible  rapidity  and  certainty  of  an  electric 
spark.  Discreet  by  nature  and  position,  they  manage 
the  great  weapon  of  dissimulation  with  incredible 
dexterity,  skillfully  reading  the  souls  of  others  with- 
out revealing  the  secrets  of  their  own.    With  that 


C  H  0  F  I  X. 


71 


strange  pride  which  disdains  to  exhibit  characteristic 
or  individual  qualities,  it  is  frequently  the  most  noble 
virtues  which  are  thus  concealed.  The  internal 
contempt  they  feel  for  those  who  cannot  divine  them, 
gives  them  that  superiority  which  enables  them  to 
reign  so  absolutely  over  those  whom  they  have  en- 
thralled, flattered,  subjugated,  charmed  ;  until  the 
moment  arrives  when — loving  with  the  whole  force  of 
their  ardent  souls,  they  are  willing  to  brave  and  share 
the  most  bitter  suffering,  prison,  exile,  even  death 
itself,  with  the  object  of  their  love  !  Ever  faithful, 
ever  consoling,  ever  tender,  ever  unchangeable  in  the 
intensity  of  their  generous  devotion  !  Irresistible 
beings,  who  in  fascinating  and  charming,  yet  demand 
an  earnest  and  devout  esteem  !  In  that  precious  in- 
cense of  praise  burned  by  M.  de  Balzac,  "in  honor 
of  that  daughter  of  a  foreign  soil,"  he  has  thus 
sketched  the  Polish  woman  in  hues  composed  en- 
tirely of  antitheses  :  "  Angel  through  love,  demon 
through  fantasy  ;  child  through  faith,  sage  through 
experience  ;  man  througli  the  brain,  woman  through 
the  heart  ;  giant  through  hope,  mother  through 
sorrow;  and  poet  through  dreams."* 

The  homage  inspired  by  the  Polish  women  is 
always  fervent.  They  all  possess  the  poetic  concep- 
tion of  an  ideal,  which  gleams  through  their  iiiter- 
couise  like  an  image  constantly  passing  before  a 
mirror,  the  comprehension  and  seizure  of  which  they 
impose  as  a  task.    Despising  the  insipid  and  common 

*  Dodicatioa  of    Jfodtafe  Mignoii." 

7 


72 


c  n  o  p  I N. 


pleasure  of  merely  being  able  to  please,  they  demand 
that  the  being  whom  they  love  shall  be  capable  of 
exacting  their  esteem.  This  romantic  temperament 
sometimes  retains  them  long  in  hesitation  between 
the  world  and  the  cloister.  Indeed,  there  are  few 
among  them  who  at  some  moment  of  their  lives,  have 
not  seriously  and  bitterly  thought  of  taking  refuge 
within  the  walls  of  a  convent. 

Where  such  women  reign  as  sovereigns,  what 
feverish  words,  what  hopes,  what  despair,  what  en- 
trancing fascinations  must  occur  in  the  mazes  of  the 
Mazourka;  the  Mazourka,  whose  every  cadence 
vibrates  in  the  ear  of  the  Polish  lady  as  the  echo  of 
a  vanished  passion,  or  the  whisper  of  a  tender  declara- 
tion. AVhich  among  them  has  ever  danced  through 
a  Mazourka,  whose  cheeks  burned  not  more  from  the 
excitement  of  emotion  than  from  mere  physical 
fatigue?  What  unexpected  and  endearing  ties  have 
been  formed  in  the  long  tête-à4ête,  in  the  very 
midst  of  crowds,  with  the  sounds  of  music,  which 
generally  recalled  the  name  of  some  hero  or  some 
proud  historical  remembrance  attached  to  the  words, 
floating  around,  while  thus  the  associations  of  love 
and  heroism  became  forever  attached  to  the  words 
and  melodies  !  What  ardent  vows  have  been  ex- 
changed; what  wild  and  despairing  farewells  been 
breathed  !  How  many  brief  attachments  have  been 
linked  and  as  suddenly  unlinked,  between  those  who 
had  never  met  before,  who  were  never,  never  to  meet 
again — and  yet,  to  whom  forgetfulness  had  become 
forever  impossible!    What  hopeless  love  may  have 


CHOPIN. 


73 


been  revealed  during  the  moments  so  rare  upon  this 
earth  ;  when  beauty  is  more  highly  estimated  than 
riches,  a  noble  bearing  of  more  consequence  than 
rank  !  What  dark  destinies  forever  severed  by  tlie 
tyranny  of  rank  and  wealth  may  have  been,  in  these 
fleeting  moments  of  meeting,  again  united,  happy  in 
the  glitter  of  passing  triumph,  reveling  in  concealed 
and  unsuspected  joy  !  What  interviews,  commenced 
in  indifference,  prolonged  in  jest,  interrupted  with 
emotion,  renewed  with  the  secret  consciousness  of 
mutual  understanding,  (in  all  that  concerns  subtle 
intuition  Slavic  finesse  and  delicacy  especially  excel,) 
have  terminated  in  the  deepest  attachments  !  What 
holy  confidences  have  been  exchanged  in  the  spirit 
of  that  generous  frankness  which  circulates  from  un- 
known to  unknown,  when  the  noble  are  delivered  from 
the  tyranny  of  forced  conventionalisms  !  What  words 
deceitfully  bland,  what  vows,  what  desires,  what 
vague  hopes  have  been  negligently  thrown  on  the 
winds  ; — thrown  as  the  handkerchief  of  the  fair 
dancer  in  the  Mazourka  . . .  and  which  the  mala- 
droit knows  not  how  to  pick  up  !  . .  . 

We  have  before  asserted  that  we  must  have  known 
personally  the  women  of  Poland,  for  the  full  and 
intuitive  comprehension  of  the  feelings  with  which 
the  Mazourkas  of  Chopin,  as  well  as  many  more  of 
his  compositions,  are  impregnated.  A  subtle  love 
vapor  floats  like  an  ambiant  fluid  around  them  ;  we 
may  trace  step  by  step  in  his  Preludes,  Nocturnes, 
Impromptus  and  Mazourkas,  all  the  phases  of  which 
passion  is  capable.    The  sportive  hues  of  coquetry, 


74 


CHOPIN. 


the  insensible  and  gradual  yielding  of  inclination, 
the  capricious  festoons  of  fantasy  ;  the  sadness  of 
sickly  joys  born  dying,  flowers  of  mourning  like  the 
black  roses,  the  very  perfume  of  whose  gloomy  leaves 
is  depressing,  and  whose  petals  are  so  frail  that  the 
faintest  sigh  is  sufficient  to  detach  them  from  the 
fragile  stem  ;  sudden  flames  without  thought,  like  the 
false  shining  of  that  decayed  and  dead  wood  which 
only  glitters  in  obscurity  and  crumbles  at  the  touch  ; 
pleasures  without  past  and  without  future,  snatched 
from  accidental  meetings  ;  illusions,  inexplicable  ex- 
citements tempting  to  adventure,  like  the  sharp  taste 
of  half  ripened  fruit  which  stimulates  and  pleases 
even  while  it  sets  the  teeth  on  edge  ;  emotions  without 
memory  and  without  hope;  shadowy  feelings  whose 
chromatic  tints  are  interminable; — are  all  found  in 
these  works,  endowed  by  genius  with  the  innate 
nobility,  the  beauty,  the  distinction,  the  surpassing 
elegance  of  those  by  whom  they  are  experienced. 

In  the  compositions  just  mentioned,  as  well  as  in 
most  of  his  Ballads,  Waltzes  and  Etudes,  the  ren- 
dering of  some  of  the  poetical  subjects  to  which  we 
have  just  alluded,  may  be  found  embalmed.  These 
fugitive  poems  are  so  idealized,  rendered  so  fragile 
and  attenuated,  that  they  scarcely  seem  to  belong  to 
human  nature,  but  rather  to  a  fairy  world,  unveiling 
the  indiscreet  confidences  of  Peris,  of  Titanias,  of 
Ariels,  of  Queen  Mabs,  of  the  Genii  of  the  air,  of 
water,  and  of  fire, — like  ourselves,  subject  to  bitter 
disappointments,  to  invincible  disgusts. 

Some  of  these  compositions  are  as  gay  and  fantas- 


CHOPIN. 


75 


tic  as  the  wiles  of  an  enamored,  yet  mischievous 
sylph  ;  some  are  soft,  playing  in  undulating  light, 
like  the  hues  of  a  salamander  ;  some,  full  of  the  most 
profound  discouragement,  as  if  the  sighs  of  souls  in 
pain,  who  could  find  none  to  offer  up  the  charitable 
prayers  necessary  for  their  deliverance,  breathed 
through  their  notes.  Sometimes  a  despair  so  incon- 
solable is  stamped  upon  them,  that  we  feel  ourselves 
present  at  some  Byronic  tragedy,  oppressed  by  the 
anguish  of  a  Jacopo  Foscari,  unable  to  survive  the 
agony  of  exile.  In  some  we  hear  the  shuddering 
spasms  of  suppressed  sobs.  Some  of  them,  in  which 
the  black  keys  are  exclusively  taken,  are  acute  and 
subtle,  and  remind  us  of  the  character  of  his  own 
gaiety,  lover  of  atticism  as  he  was,  subject  only  to 
the  higher  emotions,  recoiling  from  all  vulgar  mirth, 
from  coarse  laughter,  and  from  low  enjoyments,  as 
we  do  from  those  animals  more  abject  than  venom- 
ous, whose  very  sight  causes  the  most  nauseating 
repulsion  in  tender  and  sensitive  natures. 

An  exceeding  variety  of  subjects  and  impressions 
occur  in  the  great  number  of  his  Mazourkas.  Some- 
times we  catch  the  manly  sounds  of  the  rattling  of 
spurs,  but  it  is  generally  the  almost  imperceptible 
rustling  of  crape  and  gauze  under  the  light  breath 
of  the  dancers,  or  the  clinking  of  chains  of  gold  and 
diamonds,  that  maybe  distinguished.  Some  of  them 
seem  to  depict  the  defiant  pleasure  of  the  ball  given 
on  the  eve  of  battle,  tortured  however  by  anxiety  ; 
for,  through  the  rhythm  of  the  dance,  we  hear  the 
sighs  and  despairing  farewells  of  hearts  forced  to  sup- 


76 


C  11  O  I-  I  N. 


press  tlicir  tears.  Others  reveal  to  us  the  (lipcomforl 
and  secret  cnuui  of  those  guests  at  a  fete,  who  find  il 
in  vain  to  expect  that  the  gay  sounds  will  muffle  the 
sharp  cries  of  anguished  sp.rits.  We  sometimes 
catch  the  gasping  breath  of  terror  and  stifled  fears  ; 
sometimes,  divine  the  dim  presentiments  of  a  love 
destined  to  perpetual  struggle  and  doomed  to  sur- 
vive all  hope,  which,  though  devoured  by  jealousy 
and  conscious  that  it  can  never  be  the  victor,  still  dis- 
dains to  curse,  and  takes  refuge  in  a  soul-subduing 
pity.  In  others  we  feel  as  if  borne  into  the  heart 
of  a  whirlwind,  a  strange  madness  ;  in  the  midst  of 
the  mystic  confusion,  an  abrupt  melody  passes  and 
repasses,  panting  and  palpitating,  like  the  throbbing 
of  a  heart  faint  with  longing,  gasping  in  despair, 
breaking  in  anguish,  dying  of  hopeless,  yet  indig- 
nant love.  In  some  we  hear  the  distant  flourish  of 
trumpets,  like  fading  memories  of  glories  past.  In 
some  of  them,  the  rhythm  is  as  floating,  as  undeter- 
mined ;  as  shadowy  as  the  feeling  with  which  two 
young  lovers  gaze  upon  the  first  star  of  evening,  as 
yet  alone  in  the  dim  skies. 

Upon  one  afternoon,  when  there  were  but  three 
persons  present,  and  Chopin  had  been  playing  for  a 
long  time,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  women  in 
Paris  remarked,  that  she  felt  always  more  and  more 
filled  with  solemn  meditation,  such  as  might  be 
awakened  in  presence  of  the  grave-stones  strewing 
those  grounds  in  Turkey,  whose  shady  recesses  and 
bright  beds  of  flowers  promise  only  a  gay  garden  tc 
the  startled  traveller.    She  asked  him  what  was  the 


CHOPIN. 


77 


cansc  of  tlie  involuntary,  yet  sad  veneration  vrliich 
subdued  her  heart  while  listening  to  these  pieces, 
apparently  presenting  only  sweet  and  graceful  sub- 
jects : — and  by  what  name  he  called  the  strange  emo- 
tion inclosed  in  his  compositions,  like  ashes  of  the 
unknown  dead  in  superbly  sculptured  urns  of  the 
purest  alabaster. . . .  Conquered  by  the  appealing 
tears  which  moistened  the  beautiful  eyes,  with  a  can- 
dor rare  indeed  in  this  artist,  so  susceptible  upon  all 
that  related  to  the  secrets  of  the  sacred  relics  buried 
in  the  gorgeous  shrines  of  his  music,  he  replied  : 
"  that  her  heart  had  not  deceived  her  in  the  gloom 
which  she  felt  stealing  upon  her,  for  whatever  might 
have  been  his  transitory  pleasures,  he  had  never  been 
free  from  a  feeling  which  might  almost  be  said  to 
form  the  soil  of  his  heart,  and  for  which  he  could 
find  no  appropriate  expression  except  in  his  own  lan- 
guage, no  other  possessing  a  term  equivalent  to  the 
Polish  word:  Zal!  As  if  his  ear  thirsted  for  the 
sound  of  this  word,  which  expresses  the  whole  range 
of  emotions  produced  by  an  intense  regret,  through 
all  the  shades  of  feeling,  from  hatred  to  repentance, 
he  repeated  it  again  and  again. 

Zal  !  Strange  substantive,  embracing  a  strange 
diversity,  a  strange  philosophy  !  Susceptible  of  differ- 
ent regimens,  it  includes  all  the  tenderness,  all  the 
humility  of  a  regret  borne  with  resignation  and  with- 
out a  murmur,  while  bowing  before  the  fiat  of  nc- 
cossiiy,  the  inscrutable  decrees  of  Providence  :  but, 
changing  its  character,  and  assuming  the  regimen 
indirect  as  soon  as  it  is  addressed  to  man,  it  signifies 


78 


c  n  0  r  IN. 


excitement,  agitation,  rancor,  revolt  full  of  reproach, 
premeditated  vengeance,  menace  never  ceasing  to 
threaten  if  retaliation  should  ever  become  possible, 
feeding  itself  meanwhile  with  a  bitter,  if  sterile 
hatred. 

Zal!  In  very  truth,  it  colors  the  whole  of 
Chopin's  compositions  ;  sometimes  wrought  through 
their  elaborate  tissue,  like  threads  of  dim  silver  ; 
sometimes  coloring  them  with  more  passionate  hues. 
Tt  ma}^  be  found  in  his  sweetest  reveries  ;  even  in 
those  which  that  Shakespearian  genius,  Berlioz,  com- 
prehending all  extremes,  has  so  well  characterized 
as  "  divine  coquetries" — coquetries  only  understood 
in  semi-oriental  countries  ;  coquetries  in  which  men 
are  cradled  by  their  mothers,  with  which  they  are  tor- 
mented by  their  sisters,  and  enchanted  by  those  they 
love  ;  and  which  cause  the  coquetries  of  other  women 
to  appear  insipid  or  coarse  in  their  eyes  ;  inducing  them 
to  exclaim,  with  an  appearance  of  boasting,  yet  in 
which  they  are  entirely  justified  by  the  truth  :  Niema 
iak  Polkil  "Nothing  equals  the  Polish  women  !"* 
Through  the  secrets  of  these  "  divine  coquetries" 
those  adorable  beings  are  formed,  who  are  alone  ca- 
pable of  fulfilling  the  impassioned  ideals  of  poets 
who,  like  M.  de  Chateaubriand,  in  the  feverish  sleep- 
lessness of  their  adolescence,  create  for  themselves 
visions    of  an  Eve,  innocent,  yet  fallen  ;  ignorant  of 

*  The  custom  formerly  iu  use  of  drinking,  in  her  own  shoe,  tho 
health  of  the  woman  they  loved,  is  one  of  the  most  original  Iraditionn 
of  tho  enthusiastic  gallantry  of  tho  Poles. 


CHOPIN. 


79 


all,  yet  knowing  all  ;  mistress,  yet  virgin.*  The  only 
being  which  was  ever  found  to  resemble  this  dream, 
was  a  Polish  girl  of  seventeen — "a  mixture  of  the 
Odalisque  and  Yalkyria  .  .  .  realization  of  the  an- 
cient sylph — new  Flora — freed  from  the  chain  of  the 
seasons"t — and  whom  M.  de  Chateaubriand  feared 
to  meet  again.  "Divine  coquetries"  at  once  gene- 
rous and  avaricious  ;  impressing  the  floating,  wavy, 
rocking,  undecided  motion  of  a  boat  without  rigging 
or  oars  upon  the  charmed  and  intoxicated  heart  ! 

Through  his  peculiar  style  of  performance,  Chopin 
imparted  this  constant  rocking  with  the  most  fasci- 
nating effect  ;  thus  making  the  melody  undulate  to 
and  fro,  like  a  skiff"  driven  on  over  the  bosom  of 
tossing  waves.  This  manner  of  execution,  which  set 
a  seal  so  peculiar  upon  his  own  style  of  playing, 
Avas  at  first  indicated  by  the  term  Tempo  ruhato, 
affixed  to  his  writings:  a  Tempo  agitated,  broken, 
interrupted,  a  movement  flexible,  yet  at  the  same 
time  abrupt  and  languishing,  and  vascillating  as 
the  flame  under  the  fluctuating  breath  by  which  it 
is  agitated.  In  his  later  productions  we  no  longer 
find  this  mark.  He  was  convinced  that  if  the  per- 
former understood  them,  he  would  divine  this  rule  of 
irregularity.  All  his  compositions  should  be  played 
with  this  accentuated  and  measured  swaying  and  bal- 
ancing. It  is  difficult  for  those  who  have  not  fre- 
quently heard  him  play  to  catch  this  secret  of  their 
proper  execution.    He  seemed  desirous  of  imparting 

*  3fémoires  d'Outre  Tombe.    1st  vol.  Incantation. 
t  Idem.    3d  vol.  Atala. 


80 


CHOPIN. 


this  style  to  Lis  numerous  pupils,  particularly  those 
of  his  own  country.  His  countrymen,  or  rather  his 
countrywomen,  seized  it  with  the  facility  with  which 
they  understand  every  thing  relating  to  poetry  or 
feeling;  an  innate,  intuitive  comprehension  of  his 
meaning  aided  them  in  following  all  the  fluctuations 
of  his  depths  of  aerial  and  spiritual  blue. 


CHAPTER  lY. 


Choplu's  Mode  of  Playing— Concerts— The  Elite— Fading  Bouquets 
and  Immortal  Crowns — Hospitality — Heine— Meyorbeev — Adolpba 
Nourrit  — Eugène  Delacroix — Niemcevicz — Mickiewicz  —  Georg« 
Sand. 

After  having  described  the  compositions  palpi- 
tating with  emotion  in  "which  genius  struggles  with 
grief,  (grief,  that  terrible  reality  which  Art  must 
strive  to  reconcile  with  Heaven),  confronting  it 
sometimes  as  conqueror,  sometimes  as  conquered  ; 
compositions  in  which  all  the  memories  of  his  youth, 
the  affections  of  his  heart,  the  mysteries  of  his  de- 
sires, the  secrets  of  his  untold  passions,  are  collected 
like  tears  in  a  lachrymatory  ;  compositions  in  which, 
passing  the  limits  of  human  sensations — too  dull  for 
his  eager  fancy,  too  obtuse  for  his  keen  perceptions 
— he  makes  incursions  into  the  realms  of  Dryads, 
Oreads,  and  Oceanides  ; — we  would  naturally  be  ex- 
pected to  speak  of  his  talent  for  execution.  But 
this  task  we  cannot  assume.  "We  cannot  command 
the  melancholy  courage  to  exhume  emotions  linked 
with  our  fondest  memories,  our  dearest  personal  re- 
collections ;  we  cannot  force  ourselves  to  make  the 
mournful  effort  to  color  the  gloomy  shrouds,  veiling 
the  skill  we  once  loved,  with  the  brilliant  hues  they 
would  exact  at  our  hands.  We  feel  our  loss  too  bit- 
terly to  attempt  such  an  analysis.    And  what  result 

8i 


82 


C  U  0  P  I  N. 


would  it  be  possible  to  attain  with  all  our  efforts  ? 
We  could  not  hope  to  convey  to  those  who  have 
never  heard  him,  any  just  conception  of  that  fascina- 
tion so  ineffably  poetic,  that  charm  subtle  and  pene- 
trating as  the  delicate  perfume  of  the  vervain  or  the 
Ethiopian  calla,  which,  shrinking  and  exclusive,  re- 
fuses to  diffuse  its  exquisite  aroma  in  the  noisome 
breath  of  crowds,  whose  heavy  air  can  only  retain 
the  stronger  odor  of  the  tuberose,  the  incense  of 
burning  resin. 

By  the  purity  of  its  handling,  by  its  relation  with 
La  Fée  aux  miettes  and  Les  Lutins  d'Argail, 
by  its  rencounters  with  the  Séraphins  and  Dianes, 
who  murmur  in  his  ear  their  most  confidential  com- 
plaints, their  most  secret  dreams,  the  style  and  the 
manner  of  conception  of  Chopin  remind  us  of  No- 
dier. He  knew  that  he  did  not  act  upon  the  masses, 
that  he  could  not  warm  the  multitude,  which  is  like 
a  sea  of  lead,  and  as  heavy  to  set  in  motion,  and 
which,  though  its  waves  may  be  melted  and  rendered 
malleable  by  heat,  requires  the  powerful  arm  of  an 
athletic  Cyclops  to  manipulate,  fuse,  and  pour  into 
moulds,  where  the  dull  metal,  giowing  and  seething 
under  the  electric  fire,  becomes  thought  and  feeling 
under  the  new  form  into  which  it  has  been  forced. 
He  knew  he  was  only  perfectly  appreciated  in  those 
meetings,  unfortunately  too  few,  in  which  all  his 
hearers  were  prepared  to  follow  him  into  those 
spheres  which  the  ancients  imagined  to  be  entered 
only  through  a  gate  of  ivory,  to  be  surrounded  by 
pilasters  of  diamond,  and  surmounted  by  a  dome, 


C  U  0  P  I  N. 


83 


arched  with  fawn-colored  crystal,  upon  which  played 
the  various  dyes  of  the  prism  ;  spheres,  like  the  Mex- 
ican opal,  whose  kaleidoscopical  foci  are  dimmed  by 
olive-colored  mists  veiling  and  unveiling  the  inner 
glories  ;  spheres,  in  which  all  is  magical  and  super- 
natural, reminding  us  of  the  marvellous  worlds  of 
realized  dreams.  In  such  spheres  Chopin  delighted. 
He  once  remarked  to  a  friend,  an  artist  who  has 
since  been  frequently  heard  :  "  I  am  not  suited  for 
concert  giving  ;  the  public  intimidate  me  ;  their 
looks,  only  stimulated  by  curiosity,  paralyze  me  ; 
their  strange  faces  oppress  me;  their  breath  stifles 
me  :  but  you — you  are  destined  for  it,  for  when  you 
do  not  gain  your  public,  you  have  the  force  to  assault, 
to  overwhelm,  to  control,  to  compel  them." 

Conscious  of  how  much  was  necessary  for  the 
comprehension  of  his  peculiar  talent,  he  phiycd  but 
rarely  in  public.  With  the  exception  of  some  con- 
certs given  at  his  debut  in  1831,  in  Vienna  and  Mu- 
nich, he  gave  no  more,  except  in  Paris,  being  in- 
deed not  able  to  travel  on  account  of  his  health, 
which  was  so  precarious,  that  during  entire  months, 
he  would  appear  to  be  in  an  aj[most  dying  state.  Dur- 
ing the  only  excursion  which  he  made  with  a  hope  that 
the  mildness  of  a  Southern  climate  would  be  more 
conducive  to  his  health,  his  condition  was  frequently 
so  alarming,  that  more  than  once  the  hotel  keepers 
demanded  payment  for  the  bed  and  mattress  he  occu- 
pied, in  order  to  have  them  burned,  deeming  him 
already  arrived  at  that  stage  of  consumption  in  which 
it  becomes  so  highly  contagions. 
8 


84 


c  n  0  r  I K. 


"We  believe,  however,  if  we  may  be  permitted  to 
say  it,  that  his  concerts  were  less  fatiguing  to  his 
physical  constitution,  than  to  his  artistic  susceptibility. 
AVe  think  that  his  voluntary  abnegation  of  popular 
applause  veiled  an  internal  wound.  He  was  per- 
fectly aware  of  his  own  superiority  ;  perhaps  it  did 
not  receive  sufficient  reverberation  and  echo  from 
without  to  give  him  the  tranquil  assurance  that  he 
was  perfectly  appreciated.  No  doubt,  in  the  absence 
of  popular  acclamation,  he  asked  himself  how  far  a 
chosen  audience,  through  the  enthusiasm  of  its  ap- 
plause, was  able  to  replace  the  great  public  which  he 
relinquished.  Few  understood  him  : — did  those  few 
indeed  understand  him  aright  ?  A  gnawing  feeling 
of  discontent,  of  which  he  himself  scarcely  compre- 
hended the  cause,  secretly  undermined  him.  "VTe 
have  seen  him  almost  shocked  by  eulogy.  The 
praise  to  which  he  was  justly  entitled  not  reaching 
him  en  mos'çe,  he  looked  upon  isolated  commenda- 
tion as  almost  wounding.  That  he  felt  himself  not 
only  slightly,  but  badly  applauded,  was  sufficiently 
evident  by  the  polished  phrases  with  which,  like 
troublesome  dust,  he  shook  such  praises  off,  making 
it  quite  evident  that  he  preferred  to  be  left  undis- 
turbed in  the  enjoyment  of  his  solitary  feelings  to 
injudicious  commendation. 

Too  fine  a  connoisseur  in  raillery,  too  ingenioua  a 
satirist  ever  to  expose  himself  to  sarcasm,  he  never 
assumed  the  role  of  a  "  genius  misunderstood."  With 
a  good  grace  and  under  an  apparent  satisfaction, 
he  concealed  so  entirely  the  wound  given  to  his  jost 


c  II 0  r  I N. 


85 


pride,  that  its  very  existence  was  scarcely  suspected. 
But  not  without  reason,  might  the  gradually  increas- 
ing rarity*  of  his  concerts  be  attributed  rather  to 
the  wish  he  felt  to  avoid  occasions  which  did  not 
bring  him  the  tribute  he  merited,  than  to  physical 
debility.  Indeed,  he  put  his  strength  to  rude  proofs 
in  the  many  lessons  which  he  always  gave,  and  the 
many  hours  he  spent  at  his  own  Piano. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  indubitable  advan- 
tage for  the  artist  resulting  from  the  cultivation  of 
only  a  select  audience,  should  be  so  sensibly  dimin- 
ished by  the  rare  and  cold  expression  of  its  sympa- 
thies. The  glacé  which  covers  the  grace  of  the 
é!ite,  as  it  does  the  fruit  of  their  desserts  ;  the  im- 
perturbable calm  of  their  most  earnest  enthusiasm, 
could  not  be  satisfactory  to  Chopin.  The  poet,  torn 
from  his  solitary  inspiration,  can  only  find  it  again  in 
the  interest,  more  than  attentive,  vivid  and  animated, 
of  his  audience.  He  can  never  hope  to  regain  it  in 
the  cold  looks  of  an  Areopagus  assembled  to  judge 
him.  He  must  feel  that  he  moves,  that  he  agitates 
those  who  hear  him,  that  his  emotions  find  in  them 
the  responsive  sympathies  of  the  same  intuitions, 
that  he  draws  them  on  with  him  in  his  flight  towards 
the  infinite  :  as  when  the  leader  of  a  winged  train 
gives  the  signal  of  departure,  he  is  immediately  fol- 
lowed by  the  whole  flock  in  search  of  milder  shores. 

But  had  it  been  otherwise — had  Chopin  everywhere 

*  Sometimes  he  passed  years  without  giving  a  single  concert. 
We  believe  the  one  given  by  him  in  Pleyel's  room,  in  1844,  was 
after  an  interruption  of  nearly  ten  years. 


86 


c  H  0  r  I  N. 


received  the  exalted  homage  and  admiration  he  so 
well  deserved  ;  had  he  been  heard,  as  so  many  others, 
by  all  nations  and  in  all  climates  ;  had  he  obtained 
those  brilliant  ovations  which  make  a  Capitol  every- 
where, where  the  people  salute  merit  or  honor  jreniiis  ; 
had  he  been  known  and  recognized  by  thousands  in 
place  of  the  hundreds  who  acknowledged  him — we 
would  not  pause  in  this  part  of  his  career  to  enumer- 
ate such  triumphs. 

"What  are  the  dying  bouquets  of  an  hour  to  those 
whose  brows  claim  the  laurel  of  immortality?  Ephe- 
meral sympathies,  transitory  praises,  are  not  to  be 
mentioned  in  the  presence  of  the  august  Dead, 
crowned  with  higher  glories.  The  joj^,  the  consola- 
tions, the  soothing  emotions  which  the  creations  of 
true  art  awaken  in  the  weary,  suffering,  thirsty,  or 
persevering  and  believing  hearts  to  whom  they  are 
dedicated,  ai^e  destined  to  be  borne  into  far  countries 
and  distant  years,  by  the  sacred  works  of  Chopin. 
Thus  an  unbroken  bond  will  be  established  between 
elevated  natures,  enabling  them  to  understand  and 
appreciate  each  other,  in  whatever  part  of  the  earth 
or  period  of  time  they  may  live.  Such  natures  are 
generally  badly  divined  by  their  contemporaries  when 
they  have  been  silent,  often  misunderstood  when  they 
have  spoken  the  most  eloquently  ! 

"There  are  different  crowns,"  says  Goethe,  "there 
are  some  which  may  be  readily  gathered  during  a 
walk."  Such  crowns  charm  for  the  moment  through 
their  balmy  freshness,  but  who  would  think  of  com- 
paring them  with  those  so  laboriously  gained  bj 


CHOPIN. 


87 


Chopin  by  constant  and  exemplary  effort,  by  an 
earnest  love  of  art,  and  by  his  own  mournlul  experi- 
ence of  the  emotions  which  he  has  so  truthfully 
depicted  ! 

As  he  sought  not  with  a  mean  avidity  those  crowns 
so  easily  won,  of  which  more  than  one  among  our- 
selves has  the  modesty  to  be  proud  ;  as  he  was  a  pure, 
generous,  good  and  compassionate  man,  filled  with  a 
single  sentiment,  and  that  one  of  the  most  noble  of 
feelings,  the  love  of  country;  as  he  moved  among  us 
like  a  spirit  consecrated  by  all  that  Poland  possesses 
of  poetry  ;  let  us  approach  his  sacred  grave  with  due 
reverence  !  Let  us  adorn  it  with  no  artificial 
wreaths  !  Let  us  cast  upon  it  no  trivial  crowns  ! 
Let  us  nobly  elevate  our  thoughts  before  this  conse- 
crated shroud  !  Let  us  learn  from  him  to  repulse  all 
but  the  highest  ambition,  let  us  try  to  concentrate 
our  labor  upon  efforts  which  will  leave  more  lasting 
effects  than  the  vain  leading  of  the  fashions  of  the 
passing  hour.  Let  us  renounce  the  corrupt  spirit  of 
the  times  in  which  we  live,  with  all  that  is  not  worthy 
of  art,  all  that  will  not  endure,  all  that  does  not 
contain  in  itself  some  spark  of  that  eternal  and  im- 
material beauty,  which  it  is  the  task  of  art  to  reveal 
and  unveil  as  the  condition  of  its  own  glory!  Let 
us  remember  the  ancient  prayer  of  the  Dorians  whose 
simple  formula  is  so  full  of  pious  poetry,  asking  only 
of  their  gods  :  "  To  give  them  the  Good,  in  return  for 
the  Beautiful  Î"  In  place  of  laboring  so  constantly 
to  attract  auditors,  and  striving  to  please  them  at 
whatever  sacrifice,  let  us  rather  aim,  like  Chopin,  to 


88 


C  II  0  P  I  V. 


leave  a  celestial  aud  immortal  echo  of  what  we  have 
felt,  loved,  and  suffered  !  Let  us  learn,  from  his 
revered  memory,  to  demand  from  ourselves  works 
which  will  entitle  us  to  some  true  rank  in  the  sacred 
city  of  art  !  Let  us  not  exact  from  the  present  with- 
out regard  to  the  future,  those  light  and  vain  wreaths 
which  are  scarcely  woven  before  they  are  faded  and 
forgotten  !  . . . 

In  place  of  such  crowns,  the  most  glorious  palms 
which  it  is  possible  for  an  artist  to  receive  during  his 
lifetime,  have  been  placed  in  the  hands  of  Chopin  by 
illustrious  equals.  An  enthusiastic  admiration  was 
given  hirn  by  a  public  still  more  limited  than  the 
musical  aristocracy  which  frequented  his  concerts. 
This  public  was  formed  of  the  most  distinguished 
names  of  men,  who  bowed  before  him  as  the  kings  of 
different  empires  bend  before  a  monarch  whom  they 
have  assembled  to  honor.  Such  men  rendered  to 
bim,  individually,  due  homage.  How  could  it  have 
been  otherwise  in  France,  where  the  hospitality,  so 
truly  national,  discerns  with  such  perfect  taste  the 
rank  and  claims  of  the  guests  ! 

The  most  eminent  minds  in  Paris  frequently  met 
in  Chopin's  saloon.  Not  in  reunions  of  fantastic 
periodicity,  such  as  the  dull  imaginations  of  ceremo- 
nious and  tiresome  circles  have  arranged,  and  which 
they  have  never  succeeded  in  realizing  in  accordance 
with  their  wishes,  for  enjoyment,  ease,  enthusiasm, 
animation,  never  come  at  an  hour  fixed  upon  before 
hand.  They  can  be  commanded  less  by  artists  than 
by  other  men,  for  they  are  all  more  or  less  struck  by 


CHOPIN. 


89 


some  sacred  maladj  -wliose  paralyzing  torpor  they 
must  shake  oÉf,  whose  benumbing  pain  they  must 
forget,  to  be  joyous  and  amused  by  those  pyrotechnic 
fires  which  startle  the  bewildered  guests,  who  see 
from  time  to  time  a  Eoman  candle,  a  rose-colored 
Bengal  light,  a  cascade  whose  waters  are  of  fire,  or  a 
terrible,  yet  quite  innocent  dragon!  Gayety  and  the 
strength  necessary  to  be  joyous,  are,  unfortunately, 
things  only  accidentally  to  be  encountered  among 
poets  and  artists  !  It  is  true  some  of  the  more 
privileged  among  them  have  the  happy  gift  of  sur- 
mounting internal  pain,  so  as  to  bear  their  burden 
always  lightly,  able  to  laugh  with  their  companions 
over  the  toils  of  the  way,  or  at  least  always  able  to 
preserve  a  gentle  and  calm  serenity  which,  like  a 
mute  pledge  of  hope  and  consolation,  animates, 
elevates,  and  encourages  their  associates,  imparting 
to  them,  while  they  remain  under  the  influence  of 
this  placid  atmosphere,  a  freedom  of  spirit  which  ap- 
pears so  much  the  more  vivid,  the  more  strongly  it 
contrasts  with  their  habitual  ennui,  their  abstraction, 
their  natural  gloom,  their  usual  indifference. 

Chopin  did  not  belong  to  either  of  the  above  men- 
tioned classes;  he  possessed  the  innate  grace  of  a 
Polish  welcome,  by  which  the  host  is  not  only  bound 
to  fulfill  the  common  laws  and  duties  of  hospitality, 
but  is  obliged  to  relinquish  all  thought  of  himself,  to 
devote  all  his  powers  to  promote  the  enjoyment  of  his 
guests.  It  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  visit  him  ;  his 
visitors  were  always  charmed  ;  he  knew  how  to  put 
them  at  once  at  ease,  making  them  masters  of  every 


90 


CHOPIN. 


thing,  and  placing  evcrj  thing  at  their  disposal.  In 
doing  the  honors  of  his  own  cabin,  even  the  simple 
laborer  of  Sclavic  race  never  departs  from  this  muni- 
ficence; more  joyously  eager  in  his  welcome  than  the 
Arab  in  his  tent,  he  compensates  for  the  splendor 
which  may  be  wanting  in  his  reception  by  an  adage 
which  he  never  fails  to  repeat,  and  which  is  also  re- 
peated by  the  grand  seignior  after  the  most  luxurious 
repasts  served  under  gilded  canopies:  Czym  bohaf, 
tyni  rad — which  is  thus  paraphrased  for  foreigners  : 

Deign  graciously  to  pardon  all  that  is  unworthy  of 
you,  it  is  all  my  humble  riches  which  I  place  at  your 
feet."  This  formula*  is  still  pronounced  with  a 
national  grace  and  dignity  by  all  masters  of  families 
who  preserve  the  picturesque  customs  which  di? 
tinguished  the  ancient  manners  of  Poland. 

Having  thus  described  something  of  the  habits  of 
hospitality  common  in  his  country,  the  ease  which 
presided  over  our  reunions  with  Chopin  will  be  readily 
understood.  The  flow  of  thought,  the  entire  freedom 
from  restraint,  were  of  a  character  so  pure  that  no 
insipidity  or  bitterness  ever  ensued,  no  ill  humor  was 
ever  provoked.  Though  he  avoided  society,  yet  when 
his  saloon  was  invaded,  the  kindness  of  his  attention 

*  All  the  Polish  formulas  of  courtesy  retain  the  strong  impress 
of  the  hyperbolical  expressions  of  the  Eastern  languages.  The  titles 
of  "  very  powerful  and  very  enlightened  seigniors"  are  still  obliga- 
tory. The  Poles,  in  conversation,  constantly  name  each  other 
Benefactor  {Ddbrodxij).  The  common  salutation  between  men,  and 
of  men  to  women,  is  Padam  do  Nog:  "I  fall  at  your  feet."  The 
greeting  of  the  people  possesses  a  character  of  ancient  solemnity  and 
Bimplicity:  Slatca  Bohu:  "Glory  to  God." 


CHOPIN. 


91 


was  delightful  ;  without  appearing  to  occupy  himself 
with  any  one,  he  succeeded  in  finding  for  all  tliat 
which  was  most  agreeable  ;  neglecting  none,  he  ex- 
tended to  all  the  most  graceful  courtesy. 

It  was  not  without  a  struggle,  without  a  repug- 
nance slightly  misanthropic,  that  Chopin  could  be 
induced  to  open  his  doors  and  piano,  even  to  those 
whose  friendship,  as  respectful  as  faithful,  gave 
them  a  claim  to  urge  such  a  request  with  eagerness. 
Without  doubt  more  than  one  of  us  can  still  remember 
our  first  improvised  evening  with  him,  in  spite  of  his 
refusal,  when  he  lived  at  Chaussée  d'Antin. 

His  apartment,  invaded  by  surprise,  was  only 
lighted  by  some  wax  candles,  grouped  round  one  of 
Pleyel's  pianos,  which  he  particularly  liked  for  their 
slightly  veiled,  yet  silvery  sonorousness,  and  easy 
touch,  permitting  him  to  elicit  tones  which  one  might 
think  proceeded  from  one  of  those  harmonicas  of 
which  romantic  Germany  has  preserved  the  monopoly, 
and  which  were  so  ingeniously  constructed  by  its 
ancient  masters,  by  the  union  of  crystal  and  water. 

As  the  corners  of  the  room  were  left  in  obscurity, 
all  idea  of  limit  was  lost,  so  that  there  seemed  no 
boundary  save  the  darkness  of  space.  Some  tall 
piece  of  furniture,  with  its  white  cover,  would  reveal 
itself  in  the  dim  light  ;  an  indistinct  form,  raising 
itself  like  a  spectre  to  listen  to  the  sounds  which  had 
evoked  it.  The  light,  concentrated  round  the  piano 
and  falling  on  the  floor,  glided  on  like  a  spreading 
wave  until  it  mingled  with  the  broken  flashes  from 
the  fire,  from  which  orange  colored  plumes  rose  and 


92 


CHOPIN. 


fell,  like  fitful  gnomes,  attracted  there  by  mystic  in- 
cantatious  in  their  own  tongue.  A  single  portrait, 
that  of  a  pianist,  an  admiring  and  sympathetic  friend, 
seemed  invited  to  be  the  constant  auditor  of  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  tones,  which  sighed,  moaned,  murmured, 
broke  and  died  upon  the  instrument  near  which  it 
always  hung.  By  a  strange  accident,  the  polished 
surface  of  the  mirror  only  reflected  so  as  to  double  it 
for  our  eyes,  the  beautiful  oval  with  silky  curls  which 
so  many  pencils  have  copied,  and  which  the  engraver 
has  just  reproduced  for  all  who  are  charmed  by  works 
of  such  peculiar  eloquence. 

Several  men,  of  brilliant  renown,  were  grouped  in 
the  luminous  zone  immediately  around  the  piano  : 
Heine,  the  saddest  of  humorists,  listened  with  the 
interest  of  a  fellow  countryman  to  the  narrations 
made  him  by  Chopin  of  the  mysterious  country 
which  haunted  his  ethereal  fancy  also,  and  of  which 
he  too  had  explored  the  beautiful  shores.  At  a 
glance,  a  word,  a  tone,  Chopin  and  Heine  understood 
each  other  ;  the  musician  replied  to  the  questions 
murmured  in  his  ear  by  the  poet,  giving  in  tones  the 
most  surprising  revelations  from  those  unknown  re- 
gions, about  that  "laughing  nymph"*  of  whom  ho 
demanded  news  :  "  If  she  still  continued  to  drape 
her  silvery  veil  around  the  flowing  locks  of  her  green 
hair,  with  a  coquetry  so  enticing  ?"  Familiar  with 
the  tittle-tattle  and  love  tales  of  those  distant  lands, 
he  asked:  "If  the  old  marine  God,  with  the  long 


♦Heine.   Saloon— Cliopin. 


C  U  0  P  I  N. 


93 


white  beard,  still  pursued  this  miscliievous  naiad 
with  his  ridiculous  love  ?"  Fully  informed,  too,  about 
all  the  exquisite  fairy  scenes  to  be  seen  down  there 
— down  there,  he  asked  "  if  the  roses  always  glowed 
there  with  a  flame  so  triumphant  ?  if  the  trees  at 
moonlight  sang  always  so  harmoniously  ?"  When 
Chopin  had  answered,  and  they  had  for  a  long  time 
conversed  together  about  that  aerial  clime,  they 
would  remain  in  gloomy  silence,  seized  with  that 
maZ  du  pays  from  which  Heine  sufifered  when  he 
compared  himself  to  that  Dutch  captain  of  the 
phantom  ship,  with  his  crew  eternally  driven  about 
upon  the  chill  waves,  and  "  sighing  in  vain  for  the 
spices,  the  tulips,  the  hyacynths,  the  pipes  of  sea- 
foam,  the  porcelain  cups  of  Holland  ....  'Amster- 
dam !  Amsterdam  !  when  shall  we  again  see  Am- 
sterdam !'  they  cry  from  on  board,  while  the  tempest 
howls  in  the  cordage,  beating  them  forever  about 
in  their  watery  hell."  Heine  adds  :  "  I  fully  under- 
stand the  passion  with  which  the  unfortunate  cap- 
tain once  exclaimed  :  '  Oh  if  I  should  ever  again 
see  Amsterdam  !  I  would  rather  be  chained  forever 
at  the  corner  of  one  of  its  streets,  than  be  forced  to 
leave  it  again  !'    Poor  Yan  der  Decken  !" 

Heine  well  knew  what  poor  Yan  der  Decken  had 
suffered  in  his  terrible  and  eternal  course  upon  the 
ocean,  which  had  fastened  its  fangs  in  the  wood  of 
his  incorruptible  vessel,  and  by  an  invisible  anchor, 
whose  chain  he  could  not  break  because  it  could 
never  be  found,  held  it  firmly  linked  upon  the  waves 
of  its  restless  bosom.    He  could  describe  to  us  vhuu 


94 


CHOPIN. 


he  chose,  the  hope,  the  despair,  the  torture  of  the 
miserable  beings  peopling  this  unfortunate  ship,  for 
he  hod  mounted  its  accursed  timbers,  led  on  and 
guided  by  the  hand  of  some  enamored  Undine,  who, 
when  the  guest  of  her  forest  of  coral  and  palace  of 
pearl  rose  more  morose,  more  satirical,  more  bitter 
than  usual,  offered  for  the  amusement  of  his  ill- 
humor  between  the  repasts,  some  spectacle  worthy 
of  a  lover  who  could  create  more  wonders  in  his 
dreams  than  her  whole  kingdom  contained. 

Heine  had  traveled  round  the  poles  of  the  earth 
in  this  imperishable  vessel  ;  he  had  seen  the  brilliant 
visitor  of  the  long  nights,  the  aurora  borealis,  mirror 
herself  in  the  immense  stalactites  of  eternal  ice,  re- 
joicing in  the  play  of  colors  alternating  with  each 
other  in  the  varying  folds  of  her  glowing  scarf.  He 
had  visited  the  tropics  where  the  zodiacal  triangle, 
with  its  celestial  light,  replaces,  during  the  short 
nights,  the  burning  rays  of  an  oppressive  sun.  He 
had  crossed  the  latitudes  where  life  becomes  pain, 
and  advanced  into  those  in  which  it  is  a  living  death, 
making  himself  familiar,  on  the  long  way,  with  the 
heavenly  miracles  in  the  wild  path  of  sailors  who 
make  for  no  port!  Seated  on  a  poop  without  a 
helm,  his  eye  had  ranged  from  the  two  Bears  majesti- 
cally overhanging  the  North,  to  the  brilliant  Southern 
Cross,  through  the  blank  Antarctic  deserts  extending 
through  the  empty  space  of  the  heavens  overhead, 
as  well  as  over  the  dreary  waves  below,  where  the 
despairing  eye  finds  nothing  to  contemplate  in  the 
vacant  depths  of  a  sky  without  a  star,  vainly  arching 


CHOPIN. 


95 


over  a  limitless  sea  without  a  sliore  !  He  had  long- 
followed  the  glittering  yet  fleeting  traces  left  by  the 
meteors  through  the  blue  depths  of  space  ;  he  had 
tracked  the  mystic  and  incalculable  orbits  of  the 
comets  as  they  flash  through  their  wandering  paths, 
solitary  and  incomprehensible,  everywhere  dreaded 
for  their  ominous  splendor,  yet  inofifensive  and  harm- 
less. He  had  gazed  upon  the  shining  of  that  distant 
star,  Aldebaran,  which,  like  the  glitter  and  sullen 
glow  in  the  eye  of  a  vengeful  enemy,  glares  fiercely 
upon  our  globe,  without  daring  to  approach  it.  He 
had  watched  the  radiant  planets  shedding  upon  the 
restless  eye  which  seeks  them  a  consoling  and  friendly 
light,  like  the  wierd  cabala  of  an  enigmatic  yet  hope- 
ful promise. 

Heine  had  seen  all  these  things,  under  the  varying 
appearances  which  they  assume  in  difierent  latitudes  ; 
he  had  seen  much  more  also  with  which  he  would  en- 
tertain us  under  strange  similitudes.  He  had  assisted 
at  the  furious  cavalcade  of  "  Herodiade  ;"  he  had 
also  an  entrance  at  the  court  of  the  king  of  "  Aulnes" 
in  the  gardens  of  the  "  Hesperides"  ;  and  indeed  into 
all  those  places  inaccessible  to  mortals  who  have  not 
had  a  fairy  as  godmother,  who  would  take  upon  her- 
self the  task  of  counterbalancing  all  the  evil  expe- 
rienced in  life,  by  showering  upon  the  adopted  the 
whole  store  of  fairy  treasures. 

Upon  that  evening  which  we  are  now  describing, 
Meyerbeer  was  seated  next  to  Heine  ; — Meyerbeer, 
for  whom  the  whole  catalogue  of  admiring  interjec- 
tions has  long  since  been  exhausted  !  Creator  of 
9 


96 


CHOPIN. 


Cyclopeai)  harmonies  as  lie  was,  he  passed  the  time 
in  delight  when  following  the  detailed  arabesques, 
which,  woven  in  transparent  gauze,  wound  in  filmy 
veils  around  the  delicate  conceptions  of  Chopin. 

Adolphe  Nourrit,  a  noble  artist,  at  once  ascetic  and 
jDassionate,  was  also  there.  He  was  a  sincere,  almost 
a  devout  Catholic,  dreaming  of  the  future  with  the 
fervor  of  the  Middle  Ages,  who,  during  the  latter 
part  of  his  life,  refused  the  assistance  of  his  talent 
to  any  scene  of  merely  superficial  sentiment.  Ho 
served  Art  with  a  high  and  enthusiastic  respect  ;  he 
considered  it,  in  all  its  divers  manifestations,  only  a 
holy  tabernacle,  "  the  Beauty  of  which  formed  the 
splendor  of  the  True."  Already  undermined  by  a 
melancholy  passion  for  the  Beautiful,  his  brow  seemed 
to  be  turning  into  stone  under  the  dominion  of  this 
haunting  feeling  :  a  feeling  always  explained  by  the 
outbreak  of  despair,  too  late  for  remedy  from  man — 
man,  alas  !  so  eager  to  explore  the  secrets  of  the 
heart — so  dull  to  divine  them  ! 

Hiller,  whose  talent  was  allied  to  Chopin's,  and 
who  was  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends,  was  there 
also.  In  advance  of  the  great  compositions  which 
he  afterwards  published,  of  which  the  first  was  his 
remarkable  Oratorio,  "The  Destruction  of  Jerusa- 
lem," he  wrote  some  pieces  for  the  Piano.  Among 
these,  those  known  under  the  title  of  Etudes,  (vigor- 
ous sketches  of  the  most  finished  design),  recall  those 
studies  of  foliage,  in  which  the  landscape  painter 
gives  us  an  entire  little  poem  of  light  and  shade, 


c  II  0  r  I N. 


97 


with  only  one  tree,  one  branch,  a  single  "  motif," 
happily  and  boldly  handled. 

In  the  presence  of  the  spectres  which  filled  the 
air,  and  whose  rustling  might  almost  be  heard, 
Eugene  Delacroix  remained  absorbed  and  silent. 
Was  he  considering  what  pallet,  what  brushes,  what 
canvas  he  must  use,  to  introduce  them  into  visible 
life  through  his  art  ?  Did  he  task  himself  to  discover 
canvas  woven  by  Arachne,  brushes  made  from  the 
long  eyelashes  of  the  fairies,  and  a  pallet  covered 
with  the  vaporous  tints  of  the  rainbow,  in  order  to 
make  such  a  sketch  possible?  Did  he  then  smile  at 
these  fancies,  yet  gladly  yield  to  the  impressions 
from  which  they  sprung,  because  great  talent  is 
always  attracted  by  that  power  in  direct  contrast  to 
its  own  ? 

The  aged  Niemcevicz,  who  appeared  to  be  the 
nearest  to  the  grave  among  us,  listened  to  the  His- 
toric Songs  which  Chopin  translated  into  dramatic 
execution  for  this  survivor  of  times  long  past. 
Under  the  fingers  of  the  Polish  artist,  again  was 
heard,  side  by  side  with  the  descriptions,  so  popular, 
of  the  Polish  bard,  the  shock  of  arms,  the  songs  of 
conquerors,  the  hymns  of  triumph,  the  complaints  of 
illustrious  prisoners,  and  the  wail  over  dead  heroes. 
They  memorized  together  the  long  course  of  national 
glory,  of  victory,  of  kings,  of  queens,  of  warriors  ; 
and  so  much  life  had  these  phantoms,  that  the  old 
man,  deeming  the  present  an  illusion,  believed  the 
olden  times  fully  resuscitated. 

Dark  and  silent,  apart  from  all  others,  fell  the  mo- 


98 


CHOPIN. 


tionless  profile  of  Mickiewicz  :  the  Dante  of  tlie 
North,  he  seemed  always  to  find  "  the  salt  of  the 
stranger  bitter,  and  his  steps  hard  to  mount." 

Buried  in  a  fauteuil,  with  her  arms  resting  upon  a 
table,  sat  Madame  Sand,  curiously  attentive,  grace- 
fully subdued.  Endowed  with  that  rare  faculty  only 
given  to  a  few  elect,  of  recognizing  the  Beautiful  un- 
der whatever  form  of  nature  or  of  art  it  may  assume, 
she  listened  with  the  whole  force  of  her  ardent 
genius.  The  faculty  of  instantaneously  recognizing 
Beauty  may  perhaps  be  the  ''second  sight,"  of 
which  all  nations  have  acknowledged  the  existence 
in  highly  gifted  women.  It  is  a  kind  of  magical 
gaze  which  causes  the  bark,  the  mask,  the  gross  en- 
velope of  form,  to  fall  off  ;  so  that  the  invisible 
essence,  the  soul  which  is  incarnated  within,  may  be 
clearly  contemplated  ;  so  that  the  ideal  which  the 
poet  or  artist  may  have  vivified  under  the  torrent 
of  notes,  the  passionate  veil  of  coloring,  the  cold 
chiseling  of  marble,  or  the  mysterious  rhythms  of 
strophes,  may  be  fully  discerned.  This  faculty  is 
much  rarer  than  is  generally  supposed.  It  is  usually 
felt  but  vaguely,  yet — in  its  highest  manifestations, 
it  reveals  itself  as  a  "  divining  oracle,"  knowing  the 
Past  and  prophesying  the  Future.  It  is  a  power 
which  exempts  the  blessed  organization  which  it 
illumes,  from  the  bearing  of  the  heavy  burden  of 
technicalities,  with  which  the  merely  scientific  drag 
on  toward  that  mystic  region  of  inner  life,  which  the 
gifted  attain  with  a  single  bound.    It  is  a  faculty 


CHOPIN. 


99 


which  springs  less  from  an  acquaintance  with  the 
Bciences,  than  from  a  familiarity  with  nature. 

The  fascination  and  value  of  a  country  life  consists 
in  the  long  tcte-à-tcte  with  nature.  The  words  of 
revelation  hidden  under  the  infinite  harmonies  of 
form,  of  sounds,  of  lights  and  shadows,  of  tones  and 
warblings,  of  terror  and  delight,  may  best  be  caught 
in  these  long  solitary  interviews.  Such  infinite 
variety  may  appear  crushing  or  distracting  on  a  first 
view,  but  if  faced  with  a  courage  that  no  mystery  can 
appal,  if  sounded  with  a  resolution  that  no  length  of 
time  can  abate,  may  give  the  clue  to  analogies,  con- 
formities, relations  between  our  senses  and  our  senti- 
ments, and  aid  us  in  tracing  the  hidden  links  which 
bind  apparent  dissimilarities,  identical  oppositions  and 
equivalent  antitheses,  and  teach  us  the  secrets  of  the 
chasms  separating  with  narrow  but  impassable  space, 
that  which  is  destined  to  approach  forever,  yet  never 
mingle  ;  to  resemble  ever,  yet  never  blend.  To  have 
awakened  early,  as  did  Madame  Sand,  to  the  dim 
whispering  with  which  nature  initiates  her  chosen 
to  her  mystic  rites,  is  a  necessary  apanage  of  the 
poet.  To  have  learned  from  her  to  penetrate  the 
dreams  of  man  when  he,  in  his  turn,  creates,  and  uses 
in  his  works  the  tones,  the  warblings,  the  terrors,  the 
delights,  requires  a  still  more  subtle  power  ;  a  power 
which  Madame  Sand  possesses  by  a  double  right,  by 
the  intuitioHS  of  her  heart,  and  the  vigor  of  her 
genius.  After  having  named  Madame  Sand,  whose 
energetic  personality  and  electric  genius  inspired  the 
frail  and  delicate  organization  of  Chopin  with  an  in- 


100 


CHOPIN. 


tensity  of  admiration  which  consumed  him,  as  a  wine 
too  spirituous  shatters  the  fragile  vase  ;  we  cannot 
now  call  up  other  names  from  the  dim  limbus  of  the 
past,  in  which  so  many  indistinct  images,  such  doubt- 
ful sympathies,  such  indefinite  projects  and  uncertain 
beliefs,  are  forever  surging  and  hurtling.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  one  among  us,  who,  in  looking  through 
the  long  vista,  would  not  meet  the  ghost  of  some 
feeling  whose  shadowy  form  he  would  find  impossible 
to  pass  !  Among  the  varied  interests,  the  burning 
desires,  the  restless  tendencies  surging  through  the 
epoch  in  which  so  many  high  hearts  and  brilliant  in- 
tellects were  fortuitously  thrown  together,  how  few  of 
them,  alas  !  possessed  sufiBcient  vitality  to  enable 
them  to  resist  the  numberless  causes  of  death,  sur- 
rounding every  idea,  every  feeling,  as  well  as  every 
individual  life,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  !  Even 
during  the  moments  of  the  troubled  existence  of  the 
emotions  now  past,  how  many  of  them  escaped  that 
saddest  of  all  human  judgments  :  "Happy,  oh,  happy 
were  it  dead  !  Far  happier  had  it  never  been  born  !" 
Among  the  varied  feelings  with  which  so  many  noble 
hearts  throbbed  high,  were  there  indeed  many  which 
never  incurred  this  fearful  malediction?  Like  the 
suicide  lover  in  Mickiewicz's  poem,  who  returns  to 
life  in  the  land  of  the  Dead  only  to  renew  the  dread- 
ful suffering  of  his  earth  life,  perhaps  among  all  the 
emotions  then  so  vividly  felt  there  is  not  a  single  one 
which,  could  it  again  live,  would  reappear  without 
the  disfigurements,  the  brandings,  the  bruises,  the 
mutilations,  which  were  inflicted  on  its  early  beauty. 


CHOPIN. 


101 


which  so  deeply  sullied  its  primal  innocence  !  And 
if  we  should  persist  in  recalling  these  melancholy 
ghosts  of  dead  thoughts  and  buried  feelings  from  the 
heavy  folds  of  the  shroud,  would  they  not  actually 
appal  us,  because  so  few  of  them  possessed  sufficient 
purity  and  celestial  radiance  to  redeem  them  from 
the  shame  of  being  utterly  disowned,  entirely  repudi- 
ated, by  those  whose  bliss  or  torment  they  formed 
during  the  passionate  hours  of  their  absolute  rule? 
In  very  pity  ask  us  not  to  call  from  the  Dead,  ghosts 
whose  resurrection  would  be  so  painful!  Who 
could  bear  the  sepulchral  ghastly  array?  Who 
would  willingly  call  them  from  their  sheeted  sleep  ? 
If  our  ideas,  thoughts,  and  feelings  were  indeed  to  be 
suddenly  aroused  from  the  unquiet  grave  in  which 
they  lie  buried,  and  an  account  be  demanded  from 
them  of  the  good  and  evil  which  they  have  severally 
produced  in  the  hearts  in  which  they  found  so  gener- 
ous an  asylum,  and  which  they  have  confused,  over- 
whelmed, illumined,  devastated,  ruined,  broken,  as 
chance  or  destiny  willed, — who  could  hope  to  endure 
the  replies  that  would  be  made  to  questions  so 
searching  ? 

If  among  the  group  of  which  we  have  spoken, 
every  member  of  which  has  won  the  attention  of  many 
human  souls,  and  must,  in  consequence,  bear  in  his 
conscience  the  sharp  sting  of  multiplied  responsibili- 
ties, there  should  be  found  one  who  has  not  suffered 
anght,  that  was  pure  in  the  natural  attraction  which 
bound  them  together  in  this  chain  of  glittering  links, 
to  fall  into  dull  forgetfulness  ;  one  who  allowed  no 


102 


CHOPIN. 


breatb  of  the  fernientatiou  lingering  even  around  the 
most  delicate  perfumes,  to  embitter  his  memories  ; 
one  who  has  transfigured  and  left  to  the  immortality 
of  art,  only  the  unblemished  inheritance  of  all  that 
was  noblest  in  their  enthusiasm,  all  that  was  purest 
and  most  lasting  of  their  joys  ;  let  us  bow  before  hira 
as  before  one  of  the  Elect  !  Let  us  regard  him  as 
one  of  those  whom  the  belief  of  the  people  marks  as 
*'  Good  Genii  !"  The  attribution  of  superior  power 
to  beings  believed  to  be  beneficent  to  man,  has 
received  a  sublime  conformation  from  a  great  Italian 
poet,  who  defines  genius  as  a  "  stronger  impress  of 
Divinity  !"  Let  us  bow  before  all  who  are  marked 
with  this  mystic  seal  ;  but  let  us  venerate  with  the 
deepest,  truest  tenderness  those  who  have  only  used 
their  wondrous  supremacy  to  give  life  and  expression 
to  the  highest  and  most  exquisite  feelings  !  and 
among  the  pure  and  beneficent  genii  of  earth  must 
indubitably  be  ranked,  the  artist  Chopin  ! 


CHAPTER  Y. 


The  Lives  of  Artists — Pure  Fame  of  Chopin — Reserve — Classic  and 
Romantic  Art-Language  of  the  Sclaves— Chopin's  Love  of  Home- 
Meui  cries. 

A  NATURAL  curiosity  is  generally  felt  to  know 
something  of  the  lives  of  men  who  have  consecrated 
their  genius  to  embellish  noble  feelings  through 
works  of  art,  through  which  they  shine  like  brilliant 
meteors  in  the  eyes  of  the  surprised  and  delighted 
crowd.  The  admiration  and  sympathy  awakened  by 
the  compositions  of  such  men,  attach  immediately 
to  their  own  names,  which  are  at  once  elevated  as 
symbols  of  nobility  and  greatness,  because  the  world 
is  loathe  to  believe  that  those  who  can  express  high 
sentiments  with  force,  can  themselves  feel  ignobly. 
The  objects  of  this  benevolent  prejudice,  this  favor- 
able presumption,  are  expected  to  justify  such  sup- 
positions by  the  high  course  of  life  which  they  are 
required  to  lead.  When  it  is  seen  that  the  poet  feels 
with  such  exquisite  delicacy  all  that  which  it  is  so 
sweet  to  inspire  ;  that  he  divines  with  such  rapid  in- 
tuition all  that  pride,  timidity,  or  weariness  struggles 
to  hide;  that  he  can  paint  love  as  youth  dreams  it, 
but  as  riper  years  despair  to  realize  it  ;  when  such 
sublime  situations  seem  to  be  ruled  by  his  genius, 
which  raises  itself  so  calmly  above  the  calamities  of 
human  destiny,  always  finding  the  leading  threads 

103 


104 


CHOPIN. 


by  which  the  most  complicated  knots  in  the  tangled 
skein  of  life  may  be  proudly  and  victoriously  un- 
loosed ;  when  the  secret  modulations  of  the  most  ex- 
quisite tenderness,  the  most  heroic  courage,  the  most 
sublime  simplicity,  are  known  to  be  subject  to  his 
command, — it  is  most  natural  that  the  inquiry  should 
be  made  if  this  wondrous  divination  springs  from  a 
sincere  faith  in  the  reality  of  the  noble  feelings  por- 
trayed, or  whether  its  source  is  to  be  found  in  an 
acute  perception  of  the  intellect,  an  abstract  com- 
prehension of  the  logical  reason. 

The  question  in  what  the  life  led  by  men  so  ena- 
mored of  beauty  differs  from  that  of  the  common 
multitude,  is  then  earnestly  asked.  This  high  poetic 
disdain, — how  did  it  comport  itself  when  struggling 
Avilh  material  interests?  These  ineffable  emotions 
of  ethereal  love, — how  were  they  guarded  from  the 
bitterness  of  petty  cares,  from  that  rapidly  growing 
and  corroding  mould  which  usually  stifles  or  poisons 
them  ?  How  many  of  such  feelings  were  preserved 
from  that  subtle  evaporation  which  robs  them  of  their 
perfume,  that  gradually  increasing  inconstancy  which 
lulls  us  until  we  forget  to  call  the  dying  emotions  to 
account?  Those  who  felt  such  holy  indignation, — 
were  they  indeed  always  just  ?  Those  who  exalted 
integrity, — were  they  always  equitable?  Those  who 
sung  of  honor, — did  they  never  stoop?  Those  who 
so  admired  fortitude, — have  they  never  compromised 
with  their  own  weakness  ? 

A  deep  interest  is  also  felt  in  ascertaining  how 
those  to  whom  the  task  of  sustaining  our  faith  in  the 


CHOPIN. 


105 


nobler  sentiments  through  art  has  been  intrusted, 
have  conducted  themselves  in  external  affairs,  where 
pecuniary  gain  is  only  to  be  acquired  at  the  expense 
of  delicacy,  loyalty,  or  honor.  Many  assert  that  the 
nobler  feelings  exist  only  in  the  works  of  art.  "When 
some  unfortunate  occurrence  seems  to  give  a  deplor- 
able foundation  to  the  words  of  such  mockers,  with 
what  avidity  they  name  the  most  exquisite  concep- 
tions of  the  poet,  "vain  phantoms!"  How  they 
plume  themselves  upon  their  own  wisdom  in  having 
advocated  the  politic  doctrine  of  an  astute,  yet  hon- 
eyed hypocrisy  ;  how  they  delight  to  speak  of  the 
perpetual  contradiction  between  words  and  deeds  ! 
.  .  .  .  With  what  cruel  joy  they  detail  such  occur- 
rences, and  cite  such  examples  in  the  presence  of 
those  unsteady  restless  souls,  who  are  incited  by  their 
youthful  aspirations  and  by  the  depression  and  utter 
loss  of  happy  confidence  which  such  a  conviction 
would  entail  upon  them,  to  struggle  against  a  distrust 
so  blighting  !  When  such  wavering  spirits  are  en- 
gaged in  the  bitter  combat  with  the  harsh  alterna- 
tives of  life,  or  tempted  at  every  turn  by  its  insinu- 
ating seductions,  what  a  profound  discouragement 
seizes  upon  them  when  they  are  induced  to  believe 
that  the  hearts  devoted  to  the  most  sublime  thoughts, 
the  most  deeply  initiated  in  the  most  delicate  sus- 
ceptibilities, the  most  charmed  by  the  beauty  of  in- 
nocence, have  denied,  by  their  acts,  the  sincerity  of 
their  worship  for  the  noble  themes  which  they  have 
sung  as  poets  !  With  what  agonizing  doubts  are  they 
not  tilled  by  such  flagrant  contradictions  !  IIow  much 


106 


C  H  0  F  I  N. 


is  their  anguish  increased  by  the  jeering  mockery  of 
those  who  repeat  :  "  Poetry  is  only  that  which  might 
have  been" — and  who  delight  in  blaspheming  it  by 
their  guilty  negations  !  Whatever  may  be  the  human 
short-comings  of  the  gifted,  believe  the  truths  they 
sing  !  Poetry  is  more  than  the  gigantic  shadow  of 
our  own  imagination,  immeasurably  increased,  and 
projected  upon  the  flying  plane  of  the  Impossible  I 
Poetry  and  Reality  are  not  two  incompatible  ele- 
ments, destined  to  move  on  together  without  com- 
mingling, Goethe  himself  confesses  this-.  In  speak- 
ing of  a  contemporary  writer  he  says  :  "that  having 
lived  to  create  poems,  he  had  also  made  his  life  a 
Poem.  {Er  lebte  diclxtend,  und  dîchtete  lébend.) 
Goethe  was  himself  too  true  a  poet  not  to  know 
that  Poetry  only  is,  because  its  eternal  Reality  throbs 
in  the  noble  impulses  of  the  human  heart. 

AYe  have  once  before  remarked  that  "genius  im- 
poses its  own  obligations."*  If  the  examples  of  cold 
austerity  and  of  rigid  disinterestedness  are  sufficient 
to  awaken  the  admiration  of  calm  and  reflective 
natures,  whence  shall  more  passionate  and  mobile 
organizations,  to  whom  the  dullness  of  mediocrity  is 
insipid,  who  naturally  seek  honor  or  pleasure,  and 
who  are  willing  to  purchase  the  object  of  their  desires 
at  any  price — form  their  models  ?  Such  temperaments 
easily  free  themselves  from  the  authority  of  their 
seniors.  They  do  not  admit  their  competency  to 
decide.  They  accuse  them  of  wishing  to  use  the 
world  only  for  the  profit  of  their  own  dead  passions, 

*  Upon  Pagauini,  after  his  death. 


CHOPIN. 


107 


of  striving  to  turn  all  to  their  own  advantage,  of  pro- 
nouncing upon  the  effects  of  causes  which  they  do 
not  understand,  of  desiring  to  promulgate  laws  in 
spheres  to  which  nature  has  denied  them  entrance. 
They  will  not  receive  answers  from  their  lips,  but 
turn  to  others  to  resolve  their  doubts  ;  they  question 
those  who  have  drunk  deeply  from  the  boiling  springs 
of  grief,  bursting  from  the  riven  clefts  in  the  steep 
cliffs  upon  the  top  of  which  alone  the  soul  seeks  rest 
and  light.  They  pass  in  silence  by  the  still  cold 
gravity  of  those  who  practice  the  good,  without 
enthusiasm  for  the  beautiful.  "SVhat  leisure  has 
ardent  youth  to  interpret  their  gravity,  to  resolve 
their  chill  problems  ?  The  throbbings  of  its  im- 
petuous heart  are  too  rapid  to  allow  it  to  investigate 
the  hidden  sufferings,  the  mystic  combats,  the  solitary 
struggles,  which  may  be  detected  even  in  the  calm 
eye  of  the  man  who  practices  only  the  good.  Souls 
in  continual  agitation  seldom  interpret  aright  the 
calm  simplicity  of  the  just,  or  the  heroic  smiles  of  the 
stoic.  For  them  enthusiasm  and  emotion  are  neces- 
sities. A  bold  image  persuades  them,  a  metaphor 
leads  them,  tears  convince  them,  they  prefer  the  con- 
clusions of  impulse,  of  intuition,  to  the  fatigue  of 
logical  argument.  Thus  they  turn  with  an  eager 
curiosity  to  the  poets  and  artists  who  have  moved 
them  by  their  images,  allured  them  by  their  meta- 
phors, excited  them  by  their  enthusiasm.  They 
demand  from  them  the  explanation,  the  purpose  of 
this  enthusiasm,  the  secret  of  this  beauty  ! 

When  distracted  by  heart-rending  events,  whea 
10 


103 


C  H  0  P  I  X 


tortured  b}'  iutcp-sc  suffering,  when  feeling  and  enthu- 
siasm seem  to  be  but  a  heavy  and  cumbersome  load, 
which  may  upset  the  life-boat  if  not  thrown  overboard 
into  the  abyss  of  forgetfulness  ;  who,  when  menaced 
with  utter  shipwreck  after  a  long  struggle  with  peril, 
has  not  evoked  the  glorious  shades  of  those  who  have 
conquered,  whose  thoughts  glow  with  noble  ardor,  to 
inquire  from  them  how  far  their  aspirations  were 
sincere,  how  long  they  preserved  their  vitality  and 
truth?  Who  has  not  exerted  an  ingenious  discern- 
ment to  ascertain  how  much  of  the  generous  feeling 
depicted  was  only  for  mental  amusement,  a  mere 
speculation  ;  how  much  had  really  become  incor- 
porated with  the  habitual  acts  of  life?  Detraction  is 
never  idle  in  such  cases  ;  it  seizes  eagerly  upon  the 
foibles,  the  neglect,  the  faults  of  those  who  have 
beeu  degraded  by  any  weakness  :  alas,  it  omits 
nothing!  It  chases  its  prey,  it  accumulates  facts 
only  to  distort  them,  it  arrogates  to  itself  the  right 
of  despising  the  inspiration  to  which  it  will  grant  no 
authority  or  aim  but  to  furnish  amusement,  denying 
it  any  claim  to  guide  our  actions,  our  resolutions,  our 
refusal,  our  consent  !  Detraction  knows  well  how 
to  winnow  history  !  Casting  aside  all  the  good  grain, 
it  carefully  gathers  all  the  tares,  to  scatter  the  black 
seed  over  the  brilliant  pages  in  which  the  purest 
desires  of  the  heart,  the  noblest  dreams  of  the 
imagination  are  found  ;  and  with  the  irony  of  assumed 
victory,  demands  what  the  grain  is  worth  which  only 
germinates  dearth  and  famine?  Of  what  value  the 
vain  words,  which  only  nourish  sterile  feelings?  Of 


CHOPIN. 


109 


what  use  are  excursions  into  realms  in  which  no  real 
fruit  can  ever  be  gathered  ?  of  what  possible  impor- 
tance arc  emotions  and  enthusiasm,  which  always  end 
in  calculations  of  interest,  covering  only  with  a 
brilliant  veil  the  covert  struggles  of  egotism  and 
venal  self-interest  ? 

AVith  how  much  arrogant  derision  men  given  to 
such  detraction,  contrast  the  noble  thoughts  of  the 
poet,  with  his  unworthy  acts  1  The  high  compositions 
of  the  artist,  with  his  guilty  frivolity!  What  a 
haughty  superiority  they  assume  over  the  laborious 
merit  of  the  men  of  guileless  honesty,  whom  they 
look  upon  as  Crustacea,  sheltered  from  temptation  by 
the  immobility  of  weak  organizations,  as  well  as  over 
the  pride  of  those,  who,  believing  themselves  superior 
to  such  temptations,  do  not,  they  assert,  succeed  even 
as  well  as  themselves  in  repudiating  the  pursuit  of 
material  well  being,  the  gratification  of  vanity,  or  the 
pleasure  of  immediate  enjoyment!  What  an  easy 
triumph  they  win  over  the  hesitation,  the  doubt,  the 
repugnance  of  those  who  would  fain  cling  to  a  belief 
in  the  possibility  of  the  union  of  vivid  feelings, 
passionate  impressions,  intellectual  gifts,  imaginative 
temperaments,  with  high  integrity,  pure  lives,  and 
courses  of  conduct,  in  perfect  harmony  with  poetic 
ideals  ! 

It  is  therefore  impossible  not  to  feel  the  deepest 
sadness  when  we  meet  with  any  fact  which  shows  us 
the  poet  disobedient  to  the  inspiration  of  the  Muses, 
those  guardian  angels  of  the  man  of  genius,  who 
would  willingly  teach  him  to  make  of  his  own  life 


110 


c  n  0  p  I N. 


the  most  beautiful  of  poems.    "What  disastrous  doubts 
in  the  minds  of  others,  what  profound  discourage- 
ments, what  melancholy  apostacies  are  induced  by 
the  faltering  steps  of  the  man  of  genius  !    And  yet  it 
would  be  profanity  to  confound  his  errors  in  the 
same  anathema,  hurled  against  the  base  vices  of 
meanness,  the  shameless  effrontery  of  low  crime  !  It 
would  be  sacrilege  !    If  the  acts  of  the  poet  have 
sometimes  denied  the  spirit  of  his  song,  have  not  his 
songs  still  more  powerfully  denied  his  acts?  May 
not  the  limited  influence  of  his  private  actions  have 
been  far  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  germs  of 
creative  virtues,  scattered   profusely   through  his 
eloquent  writings  ?    Evil  is  contagious,  but  good  is 
truly  fruitful  !    The  poet,  even  while  forcing  his  inner 
convictions  to  give  way  to  his  personal  interest,  still 
acknowledges  and  ennobles  the  sentiments  which 
condemn  himself;  such  sentiments  attain  a  far  wider 
influence  through  his  works  than  can  be  exerted  by 
his  individual  acts.    Are  not  the  number  of  spirits 
which  have  been  calmed,  consoled,  edified,  throngh 
these  works,  far  greater  than  the  number  of  those 
who  have  been  injured  by  the  errors  of  his  private 
life?    Art  is  far  more  powerful  than  the  artist.  His 
creations  have  a  life  independent  of  his  vacillating 
will   for  they  are  revelations  of  the  "immutable 
beauty  !"    More  durable  than  himself,  they  pass  on 
from  generation  to  generation  ;  let  us  hope  that  they 
may,  through  the  blessings  of  their  widely  spread 
influence,  contain  a  virtual  power  of  redemption  for 
the  frequent  errors  of  their  gifted  authors. 


c  n  0  p  I  X. 


Ill 


If  it  be  indeed  true  that  many  of  those  who  have 
immortalized  their  sensibility  and  their  aspirations, 
by  robing  them  in  the  garb  of  surpassing  eloquence, 
have,  nevertheless,  stifled  these  high  aspirations, 
abused  these  quick  sensibilities, — how  many  have 
they  not  confirmed,  strengthened  and  encouraged  to 
pursue  a  noble  course,  through  the  works  created  by 
their  genius  !  A  generous  indulgence  towards  them 
would  be  but  justice  !  It  is  hard  to  be  forced  to 
claim  simple  justice  for  them  ;  unpleasant  to  be  con- 
strained to  defend  those  whom  we  wish  to  be  ad- 
mired, to  excuse  those  whom  we  wish  to  see  vene- 
rated ! 

With  what  exultant  feelings  of  just  pride  may  the 
friend  and  artist  remember  a  career  in  which  there 
are  no  jarring  dissonances;  no  contradictions,  for 
which  he  is  forced  to  claim  indulgence  ;  no  errors, 
whose  source  must  be  found  in  palliation  of  their 
existence  ;  no  extreme,  to  be  accounted  for  as  the 
consequence  of  "excess  of  cause."  How  sweet  it  is 
to  be  able  to  name  one  who  has  fully  proved  that  it 
is  not  only  apathetic  beings  whom  no  fascination  can 
attract,  no  illusion  betray,  who  are  able  to  limit 
themselves  within  the  strict  routine  of  honored  and 
honorable  laws,  who  may  justly  claim  that  elevation 
of  soul,  which  no  reverse  subdues,  and  which  is 
never  found  in  contradiction  with  its  better  self! 
Doubly  dear  and  doubly  honored  must  the  memory 
of  Chopin,  in  this  respect,  ever  remain  !  Dear  to  the 
friends  and  artists  who  have  known  him  in  his  lifetime, 
dear  to  the  unknown  friends  who  shall  learn  to  love 


112 


CHOPIN, 


him  through  his  poetic  sont^,  as  well  as  to  the  artists 
who,  iu  succeeding  him,  shall  find  their  glory  in 
being  worthy  of  him  ! 

Tlie  character  of  Chopin,  in  none  of  its  iiumerous 
folds,  concealed  a  single  movement,  a  single  impulse, 
which  was  not  dictated  by  the  nicest  sense  of  honor, 
the  most  delicate  appreciation  of  affection.  Yet  no 
nature  was  ever  more  formed  to  justify  eccentricity, 
whims,  and  abrupt  caprices.  His  imagination  was 
ardent,  his  feelings  almost  violent,  his  physical  organi- 
zation weak,  irritable  and  sickly.  Who  can  measure 
the  amount  of  suffering  arising  from  such  contrasts  ? 
It  must  have  been  bitter,  but  he  never  allowed  it  to  be 
seen  !  He  kept  the  secret  of  his  torments,  he  veiled 
them  from  all  eyes  under  the  impenetrable  serenity 
of  a  haughty  resignation. 

The  delicacy  of  his  heart  and  constitution  imposed 
upon  him  the  woman's  torture,  that  of  enduring 
agonies  never  to  be  confessed,  thus  giving  to  his  fate 
some  of  the  darker  hues  of  feminine  destiny.  Ex- 
cluded, by  the  infirm  state  of  his  health,  from  the 
exciting  arena  of  ordinary  activity,  without  any  taste 
for  the  useless  buzzing,  in  which  a  few  bees,  joined 
with  many  wasps,  expend  their  superfluous  strength, 
he  built  apart  from  all  noisy  and  frequented  routes  a 
secluded  cell  for  himself.  Neither  adventures,  em- 
barrassments, or  episodes,  mark  his  life,  which  he 
succeeded  in  simplifying,  although  surrounded  by 
circumstances  which  rendered  such  a  result  difficult 
of  attainment.  His  own  feelings,  his  own  impressions, 
were  his  events;  more  important  in  his  eyes  than  the 


CHOPIN. 


113 


chances  and  changes  of  external  life.  He  constantly 
gave  lessons  with  regularity  and  assiduity  ;  domestic 
and  daily  tasks,  they  were  given  conscientiously  and 
satisfactorily.  As  the  devout  in  prayer,  so  he  poured 
out  his  soul  in  his  compositions,  expressing  in  them 
those  passions  of  the  heart,  those  unexpressed  sorrows, 
to  which  the  pious  give  vent  in  their  communion  with 
their  Maker.  "What  they  never  say  except  upon  their 
knees,  he  said  in  his  palpitating  compositions  ;  utter- 
ing in  the  language  of  the  tones  those  mysteries  of 
passion  and  of  grief  which  man  has  been  permitted 
to  understand  without  words,  because  there  are  no 
words  adequate  for  their  expression. 

The  care  taken  by  Chopin  to  avoid  the  zig-zags  of 
life,  to  eliminate  from  it  all  that  was  useless,  to 
prevent  its  crumbling  into  masses  without  form,  has 
deprived  his  own  course  of  incident.  The  vague 
lines  and  indications  surrounding  his  figure  like  misty 
clouds,  disappear  under  the  touch  which  would  strive 
to  follow  or  trace  their  outlines.  He  takes  part  in 
no  actions,  no  drama,  no  entanglements,  no  denoue- 
ments. He  exercised  a  decisive  influence  upon  no 
human  being.  His  will  never  encroached  upon  the 
desires  of  another,  he  never  cx)nstrained  any  other 
spirit,  or  crushed  it  under  the  domination  of  his  own. 
He  never  tyrannized  over  another  heart,  he  never 
p  laced  a  conquering  hand  upon  the  destiny  of  another 
being.  He  sought  nothing  ;  he  would  have  scorned 
to  have  made  any  demands.  Like  Tasso  he  might 
say  : 

Brama  aasai,  poco  spcra,  e  milla  chicde. 


114 


CHOPIN. 


In  compensation,  he  escaped  from  all  ties  ;  from  the 
affections  which  might  have  influenced  him,  or  led 
him  into  more  tumultuous  spheres.  Ready  to  yield 
all,  he  never  gave  himself.  Perhaps  he  knew  what 
exclusive  devotion,  what  love  without  limit  he  was 
worthy  of  inspiring,  of  understanding,  of  sharing  ! 
Like  other  ardent  and  ambitious  natures,  he  may 
have  thought  if  love  and  friendship  are  not  all — they 
are  nothing!  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  more 
painful  for  him  to  have  accepted  a  part,  any  thing  less 
than  all,  than  to  have  relinquished  all,  and  thus  to 
have  remained  at  least  faithful  to  his  impossible 
Ideal  !  If  these  things  have  been  so  or  not,  none 
ever  knew,  for  he  rarely  spoke  of  love  or  friendship. 
He  was  not  exacting,  like  those  whose  high  claims 
and  just  demands  exceed  all  that  we  possess  to  ofîei' 
them.  The  most  intimate  of  his  acquaintances  never 
penetrated  to  that  secluded  fortress  in  which  the  soul, 
absent  from  his  common  life,  dwelt  ;  a  fortress  which 
he  so  well  succeeded  in  concealing,  that  its  very  ex- 
istence was  scarcely  suspected. 

In  his  relations  and  intercourse  with  others,  he 
always  seemed  occupied  in  what  interested  them  ;  he 
was  cautious  not  to  lead  tliem  from  the  circle  of  their 
own  personality,  lest  they  should  intrude  into  his. 
If  he  gave  up  but  little  of  his  time  to  others,  at  least 
of  that  which  he  did  relinquish,  he  reserved  none  for 
himself.  No  one  ever  asked  him  to  give  an  account 
of  his  dreams,  his  wishes,  or  his  hopes.  No  one 
seemed  to  wish  to  know  what  he  sighed  for,  what  he 
might  have  conquered,  if  his  white  and  tapering 


CHOPIN. 


115 


fingers  could  bave  linked  the  brazen  chords  of  life  to 
the  golden  ones  of  his  enchanted  lyre  !  No  one  had 
leisure  to  think  of  this  in  his  presence.  Ilis  conver- 
sation was  rarely  upon  subjects  of  any  deep  interest. 
He  glided  lightly  over  all,  and  as  he  gave  but  little 
of  his  time,  it  was  easily  filled  with  the  details  of  the 
day.  He  was  careful  never  to  allow  himself  to 
wander  into  digressions  of  which  he  himself  might 
become  the  subject.  His  individuality  rarely  excited 
the  investigations  of  curiosity,  or  awakened  vivid 
scrutiny.  He  pleased  too  much  to  excite  much  re- 
flection. The  ensemble  of  his  person  was  harmoni- 
ous, and  called  for  no  especial  commentary.  His 
blue  eye  was  more  spiritual  than  dreamy,  his  bland 
smile  never  writhed  into  bitterness.  The  trans- 
parent delicacy  of  his  complexion  pleased  the  eye, 
his  fair  hair  was  soft  and  silky,  his  nose  slightly 
aquiline,  his  bearing  so  distinguished,  and  his  manners 
stamped  with  so  much  high  breeding,  that  involunta- 
rily he  was  always  treated  en  Prince.  His  gestures 
were  many  and  graceful  ;  the  tone  of  his  voice  was 
veiled,  often  stifled  ;  his  stature  was  low,  and  his 
limbs  slight.  He  constantly  reminded  us  of  a  con- 
volvulus balancing  its  heaven-colored  cup  upon  an 
incredibly  slight  stem,  the  tissue  of  which  is  so  like 
vapor  that  the  slightest  contact  wounds  and  tears 
the  misty  corolla. 

His  manners  in  society  possessed  that  serenity  of 
mood  which  distinguishes  those  whom  no  ennui 
annoys,  because  they  expect  no  interest.  He  was 
generally  gay,  his  caustic  spirit  caught  the  ridiculous 


116 


c  u  o  r  I N. 


rapidly  and  far  below  the  surface  at  which  it  usually 
strikes  the  eye.  He  displayed  a  rich  vein  of  drollery 
in  pantomime.  He  often  amused  himself  by  repro- 
ducing the  musical  formulas  and  peculiar  tricks  of 
certain  virtuosi,  in  the  most  burlesque  and  comic  im- 
provisations, in  imitating  their  gestures,  their  move- 
ments, in  counterfeiting  their  faces  with  a  talent 
which  instantaneously  depicted  their  whole  person- 
ality. His  own  features  would  then  become  scarcely 
recognizable,  he  could  force  the  strangest  metamor- 
phoses upon  them,  but  while  mimicking  the  ugly  and 
grotesque,  he  never  lost  his  own  native  grace. 
Grimace  was  never  carried  far  enough  to  disfigure 
him  ;  his  gayety  was  so  much  the  more  piquant  be- 
cause he  always  restrained  it  within  the  limits  of 
perfect  good  taste,  holding  at  a  suspicious  distance 
all  that  could  wound  the  most  fastidious  delicacy. 
He  never  made  use  of  an  inelegant  word,  even  in  the 
moments  of  the  most  entire  familiarity;  an  improper 
merriment,  a  coarse  jest  would  have  been  shocking 
to  him. 

Through  a  strict  exclusion  of  all  subjects  relating 
to  himself  from  conversation,  through  a  constant 
reserve  with  regard  to  his  own  feelings,  he  always 
succeeded  in  leaving  a  happy  impression  behind  him. 
People  in  general  like  those  who  charm  them  without 
causing  them  to  fear  that  they  will  be  called  upon  to 
render  aught  in  return  for  the  amusement  given,  or 
that  the  pleasurable  excitement  of  gayety  will  be 
followed  by  the  sadness  of  melancholy  confidences, 
the  sight  of  mournful  faces,  or  the  inevitable  reac- 


CHOPIN. 


117 


tions  which  occur  in  susceptible  natures  of  which  we 
may  say:  Ubi  mel,  ïbï  fel.  People  generally  like  to 
keep  such  "  susceptible  natures"  at  a  distance  ;  they 
dislike  to  be  brought  into  contact  with  their  melan- 
choly moods,  though  they  do  not  refuse  a  kind  of 
respect  to  the  mournful  feelings  caused  by  their 
subtle  reactions  ;  indeed  such  changes  possess  for 
them  the  attraction  of  the  unknown,  and  they  are  as 
ready  to  take  delight  in  the  description  of  such 
changing  caprices,  as  they  are  to  avoid  their  reality. 
The  presence  of  Chopin  was  always  feted.  He  in- 
terested himself  so  vividly  in  all  that  was  not  him- 
self, that  his  own  personality  remained  intact,  unap- 
proached  and  unapproachable,  under  the  polished 
and  glassy  surface  upon  which  it  was  impossible  to 
gain  footing. 

On  some  occasions,  although  very  rarely,  we  have 
seen  him  deeply  agitated.  We  have  seen  him  grow 
so  pale  and  wan,  that  his  appearance  was  actually 
corpse-like.  But  even  in  moments  of  the  most  in- 
tense emotion,  he  remained  concentrated  within  him- 
self. A  single  instant  for  self-recovery  always  en- 
abled him  to  veil  the  secret  of  his  first  impression. 
However  full  of  spontaneity  his  bearing  afterwards 
might  seem  to  be,  it  w^as  instantaneously  the  effect 
of  reflection,  of  a  will  which  governed  the  strange 
conflict  of  emotional  and  moral  energy  with  conscious 
physical  debility;  a  conflict  whose  strange  contrasts 
were  forever  warring  vividly  within.  The  dominion 
exercised  over  the  natural  violence  of  his  character 
reminds  us  of  the  melancholy  force  of  those  beings 


118 


CHOPIN 


Avho  seek  their  strength  in  isolation  and  entire  self- 
control,  conscious  of  the  uselessness  of  their  vivid 
indignation  and  vexation,  and  too  jealous  of  the 
mysteries  of  their  passions  to  betray  them  gratui- 
tously. 

He  could  pardon  in  the  most  noble  manner.  No 
rancor  remained  in  his  heart  toward  those  who  had 
wounded  him,  though  such  wounds  penetrated  deeply 
in  his  soul,  and  fermented  there  in  vague  pain  and 
internal  suffering,  so  that  long  after  the  exciting 
cause  had  been  effaced  from  his  memory,  he  still  ex- 
perienced the  secret  torture.  By  dint  of  constant 
effort,  in  spite  of  his  acute  and  tormenting  sensibili- 
ties, he  subjected  his  feelings  to  the  rule  rather  of 
what  ought  to  be,  than  of  what  is  ;  thus  he  was  grate- 
ful for  services  proceeding  rather  from  good  inten- 
tions than  from  a  knowledge  of  what  would  have  been 
agreeable  to  him  ;  from  friendship  which  wounded 
him,  because  not  aware  of  his  acute  but  concealed 
susceptibility.  Nevertheless  the  wounds  caused  by 
such  awkward  miscomprehension  are,  of  all  others, 
the  most  difficult  for  nervous  temperaments  to  bear. 
Condemned  to  repress  their  vexation,  such  natures 
are  excited  by  degrees  to  a  state  of  constantly  gnaw- 
ing irritability,  which  they  can  never  attribute  to  the 
true  cause.  It  would  be  a  gross  mistake  to  imagine 
that  this  irritation  existed  without  provocation.  But 
as  a  dereliction  from  what  appeared  to  him  to  be  the 
most  honorable  course  of  conduct  was  a  temptation 
which  he  was  never  called  upon  to  resist,  because  in 
all  probability  it  never  presented  itself  to  him  ;  so  he 


C  U  0  F  I  N.. 


119 


never,  iu  tbe  presence  of  the  more  vigorous  and 
therefore  more  brusque  and  positive  individualities 
than  his  own,  unveiled  the  shudder,  if  repulsion  be  too 
strong  a  term,  caused  by  their  contact  or  associa- 
tion. 

The  reserve  which  marked  his  intercourse  with 
others,  extended  to  all  subjects  to  which  the  fanati- 
cism of  opinion  can  attach.  His  own  sentiments 
could  only  be  estimated  by  that  which  he  did  not  do 
in  the  narrow  limits  of  his  activity.  His  patriotism 
was  revealed  in  the  course  taken  by  his  genius,  in 
the  choice  of  his  friends,  in  the  preferences  given  to 
his  pupils,  and  iu  tbe  frequent  and  great  services 
which  he  rendered  to  his  compatriots  ;  but  we  can- 
not remember  that  he  took  any  pleasure  in  the  ex- 
pression of  this  feeling.  If  he  sometimes  entered 
upon  the  topic  of  politics,  so  vividly  attacked,  so 
warmly  defended,  so  frequently  discussed  in  France, 
it  was  rather  to  point  out  what  he  deemed  dangerous 
or  erroneous  in  the  opinions  advanced  by  others  than 
to  win  attention  for  his  own.  In  constant  connection 
with  some  of  tbe  most  brilliant  politicians  of  the  day, 
be  knew  how  to  limit  the  relations  between  them  to  a 
personal  attachment  entirely  independent  of  political 
interests. 

Democracy  presented  to  his  view  an  agglomeration 
of  elements  too  heterogeneous,  too  restless,  wielding 
too  much  savage  power,  to  win  bis  sympathies.  Tbe 
entrance  of  social  and  political  questions  into  the 
arena  of  popular  discussion  was  compared,  more  than 
twenty  years  ago,  to  a  new  and  bold  incursion  of 
11 


120 


c  n  0  r  I X. 


barbarians.  Chopin  was  peculiarly  and  painfully 
struck  by  the  terror  which  this  comparison  awakejied. 
He  despaired  of  obtaining  the  safety  of  Rome  from 
these  modern  Attilas,  he  feared  the  destruction  of  art, 
its  monuments,  its  refinements,  its  civilization  ;  in  a 
word  he  dreaded  the  loss  of  the  elegant,  cultivated, 
if  somewhat  indolent  ease  described  by  Horace. 
Would  the  graceful  elegancies  of  life,  the  high 
culture  of  the  arts,  indeed  be  safe  in  the  rude  and 
devastating  hands  of  the  new  barbarians  ?  Tie  fol- 
lowed at  a  distance  the  progress  of  events,  and  an 
acutencss  of  perception,  which  he  would  scarcely 
have  been  supposed  to  possess,  often  enabled  him  to 
predict  occurrences  which  were  not  anticipated  even 
by  the  best  informed.  But  though  such  observations 
escaped  him,  he  never  developed  them.  His  concise 
remarks  attracted  no  attention  until  time  proved  their 
truth.  His  good  sense,  full  of  acuteness,  had  early 
persuaded  him  of  the  perfect  vacuity  of  the  greater 
part  of  political  orations,  of  theological  discussions, 
of  philosophic  digressions.  He  began  early  to  prac- 
tice the  favorite  maxim  of  a  man  of  great  distinction, 
whom  we  have  often  heard  repeat  a  remark  dictated 
by  the  misanthropic  wisdom  of  age,  which  was  then 
startling  to  our  inexperienced  impetuosity,  but  which 
has  since  frequently  struck  us  by  its  melancholy 
truth:  ''You  will  be  persuaded  one  day  as  I  am," 
(said  the  Marquis  de  Noailles  to  the  young  people 
whom  he  honored  with  his  attention,  and  who  were 
becoming  heated  in  some  naïve  discussions  of  differing 
opinions,)  "  that  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  talk  about 


c  n  0  r  I N. 


121 


any  thing  to  any  body."  [Qu'il  n'y  a  guère  moyen  de 
causer  de  quoi  que  ce  soit,  avec  qui  que  ce  soit.) 

Sincerely  religious,  and  attached  to  Catholicity, 
Chopin  never  touched  upon  this  subject,  but  held  his 
faith  without  attracting  attention  to  it.  One  might" 
have  been  acquainted  with  hiui  for  a  long  time, 
without  knowing  exactly  what  his  religious  opinions 
were.  Perhaps  to  console  his  inactive  hand  and 
reconcile  it  with  his  lute,  he  persuaded  himself  to 
think  :  //  w.ondo  va  da  se.  We  have  frequently 
watched  him  during  the  progress  of  long,  animated, 
and  stormy  discussions,  in  which  he  would  take  no 
part.  In  the  excitement  of  the  debate  he  was  for- 
gotten by  the  speakers,  but  we  have  often  neglected 
to  follow  the  chain  of  their  reasoning,  to  fix  our 
attention  upon  the  features  of  Chopin,  which  were 
almost  imperceptibly  contracted  when  subjects  touch- 
ing upon  the  most  important  conditicns  of  our 
existence  were  discussed  with  such  eagerness  and 
ardor,  that  it  might  have  been  thought  our  fates 
were  to  be  instantly  decided  by  the  result  of  the 
debate.  At  such  times,  he  appeared  to  us  like  a 
passenger  on  board  of  a  vessel,  driven  and  tossed  by 
tempests  upon  the  storniiful  waves,  thinking  of  his 
distant  country,  watching  the  horizon,  the  stars,  the 
manœuvres  of  the  sailors,  counting  their  fatal 
mistakes,  without  possessing  in  himself  sufficient 
force  to  seize  a  rope,  or  the  energy  requisite  to  haul 
in  a  fluttering  sail. 

On  one  single  subject  he  relinquished  his  premedi- 
tated silence,  his  cherished  neutrality.    In  the  cause 


122 


CHOPIN. 


of  art  IiG  broke  tlirough  his  reserve,  he  never  abdi- 
cated upon  this  topic  the  explicit  enunciation  of  his 
opinions.  He  applied  himself  with  great  perseve- 
rance to  extend  the  limits  of  his  influence  upon  this 
subject.  It  was  a  tacit  confession  that  he  considered 
himself  legitimately  possessed  of  the  authority  of  a 
great  artist.  In  questions  which  he  dignified  by  his 
competence,  he  never  left  any  doubt  with  regard  to 
the  nature  of  his  opinions.  Daring  several  years  his 
appeals  were  full  of  impassioned  ardor,  but  later,  the 
triumph  of  his  opinions  having  diminished"  the 
interest  of  his  role,  he  sought  no  further  occasion  to 
place  himself  as  leader,  as  the  bearer  of  any  banner. 
In  the  only  occurrence  in  which  he  took  part  in  the 
conflict  of  parties,  he  gave  proof  of  opinions,  absolute, 
tenacious,  and  inflexible,  as  those  which  rarely  come 
to  the  light  usually  are. 

Shortly  after  his  arrival  in  Paris,  in  1832,  a  new 
school  was  formed  both  in  literature  and  music,  and 
youthful  talent  appeared,  which  shook  off  with  eclat 
the  yoke  of  ancient  formulas.  The  scarcely  lulled 
political  eff'ervescence  of  the  first  years  of  the  revo- 
lution of  July,  passed  into  questions  upon  art  and 
letters,  which  attracted  the  attention  and  interest  of 
all  minds.  Romanticism  was  the  order  of  the  day  ; 
they  fought  with  obstinacy  for  and  against  it.  What 
truce  could  there  be  between  those  who  would  not 
admit  the  possibility  of  writing  in  any  other  than  the 
already  established  manner,  and  those  who  thought 
that  the  artist  should  be  allowed  to  choose  such 
forms  as  he  deemed  best  suited  for  the  expression 


c  II  0  r  I  N . 


123 


of  his  ideas  ;  that  the  rule  of  form  should  be  found  in  the 
agreement  of  the  chosen  form  with  the  sentiments  to 
be  expressed,  every  dififereut  shade  of  feeling  requir- 
ing of  course  a  differen  ;  mode  of  expression  ?  Tlie 
former  believed  in  the  existence  of  a  permanent  form, 
Avhose  perfection  represented  absolute  Beauty.  But 
in  admitting  that  the  great  masters  had  attained  the 
highest  limits  in  art,  had  reached  supreme  perfection, 
they  left  to  the  artists  who  succeeded  them  no  other 
glory  than  the  hope  of  approaching  these  models, 
more  or  less  closely,  by  imitation,  thus  frustrating 
all  hope  of  ever  equalling  them,  because  the  perfect- 
ing of  any  process  can  never  rival  the  merit  of  its 
invention.  The  latter  denied  that  the  immaterial 
Beautiful  could  have  a  fixed  and  absolute  form.  The 
different  forms  which  had  appeared  in  the  history  of 
art,  seemed  to  them  like  tents  spread  in  the  intermi- 
nable route  of  the  ideal  ;  mere  momentary  halting 
places  which  genius  attains  from  epoch  to  epoch,  and 
beyond  which  the  inheritors  of  the  past  should  strive 
to  advance.  The  former  wished  to  restrict  the 
creations  of  times  and  natures  the  most  dissimilar, 
within  the  limits  of  the  same  symmetrical  frame  ;  the 
latter  claimed  for  all  writers  the  liberty  of  creating 
their  own  mode,  accepting  no  other  rules  than  those 
which  result  from  the  direct  relation  of  sentiment 
and  form,  exacting  only  that  the  form  should  be 
adequate  to  the  expression  of  the  sentiment.  How- 
ever admirable  the  existing  models  might  be,  they 
did  not  appear  to  them  to  have  exhausted  all  the 
range  of  sentiments  upon  which  art  might  seize,  or 


124 


CHOPIN. 


all  the  forms  wliicli  it  might  advantageously  use. 
Not  coDtented  with  the  mere  excellence  of  form, 
they  sought  it  so  far  only  as  its  perfection  is  indis- 
pensable for  the  complete  revelation  of  the  idea,  for 
they  were  not  ignorant  that  the  sentiment  is  maimed 
if  the  form  remain  imperfect,  any  imperfection  in  it, 
like  an  opaque  veil,  intercepting  the  raying  of  the  pure 
idea.  Thus  they  elevated  what  had  otherwise  been 
the  mere  work  of  the  trade,  into  the  sphere  of  poetic 
inspiration.  They  enjoined  upon  genius  and  patience 
the  task  of  inventing  a  form  which  would  satisfy  the 
exactions  of  the  inspiration.  They  reproached  their 
adversaries  with  attempting  to  reduce  inspiration  to 
the  bed  of  Procrustes,  because  they  refused  to  admit 
that  there  are  sentiments  which  cannot  be  expressed 
in  forms  which  have  been  determined  upon  before- 
hand, and  of  thus  robbing  art,  in  advance  even  of 
their  creation,  of  all  works  which  might  attempt  the 
introduction  of  newly  awakened  ideas,  newly  clad  in 
new  forms  ;  forms  and  ideas  both  naturally  arising 
from  the  naturally  progressive  development  of  the 
human  spirit,  the  improvement  of  the  instruments, 
and  the  consequent  increase  of  the  material  resources 
of  a.'t. 

Those  who  saw  the  flames  of  Genius  devour  the 
old  worm-eaten  crumbling  skeletons,  attached  them- 
selves to  the  musical  school  of  which  the  most  gifted, 
the  most  brilliant,  the  most  daring  representative, 
was  Berlioz.  Chopin  joined  this  school.  He  per- 
sisted most  strenuously  in  freeing  himself  from  the 
servile  formulas  of  conventional  style,  while  he  earn- 


C  II  0  P  T  N. 


125 


estly  repudiated  the  charlatanism  wliich  sought  to 
replace  the  old  abuses  only  by  the  introduction  of 
new  ones. 

During  the  years  which  this  campaign  of  Roman- 
ticism lasted,  in  which  some  of  the  trial  blows  were 
master-strokes,  Chopin  remained  invariable  in  his 
predilections,  as  well  as  in  his  repulsions.  lie  did 
not  admit  the  least  compromise  with  those  who,  in 
his  opinion,  did  not  sufficiently  represent  progress, 
and  who,  in  their  refusal  to  relinquish  the  desire  of 
displaying  art  for  the  profit  of  the  trade,  in  their 
pursuit  of  transitory  effects,  of  success  won  only 
from  the  astonishment  of  the  audience,  gave  no  proof 
of  sincere  devotion  to  progress.  He  broke  the  tics 
■which  he  had  contracted  with  respect  when  he  felt 
restricted  by  them,  or  bound  too  closely  to  the  shore 
by  cordage  which  he  knew  to  be  decayed.  He  ob- 
"stinately  refused,  on  the  other  hand,  to  form  ties 
with  the  young  artists  whose  success,  which  he  deemed 
exaggerated,  elevated  a  certain  kind  of  merit  too 
highly.  He  never  gave  the  least  praise  to  any  thing 
which  he  did  not  believe  to  be  a  real  conquest  for  art, 
or  which  did  not  evince  a  serious  conception  of  the 
task  of  an  artist.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  lauded  by 
any  party,  to  be  aided  by  the  manoeuvres  of  any  faction, 
or  by  the  concessions  made  by  any  schools  in  the 
persons  of  their  chiefs.  In  the  midst  of  jealousies, 
encroachments,  forfeitures,  and  invasions  of  the  dif- 
ferent branches  of  art,  negotiations,  treaties,  and 
contracts  have  been  introduced,  like  the  means  and 
appliances  of  diplomacy,  with  all  the  artifices  inscpa- 


12G 


c  n  0  p  I N. 


rable  from  such  a  course.  In  refusing  the  support 
of  any  accessory  aid  for  his  productions,  he  proved 
that  he  confidently  believed  that  their  own  beauty 
would  ensure  their  appreciation,  and  that  he  did  not 
struggle  to  facilitate  their  immediate  reception. 

lie  supported  our  struggles,  at  that  time  so  full  of 
uncertainty,  when  we  met  more  sages  shaking  their 
heads,  than  glorious  adversaries,  with  his  calm  and 
unalterable  conviction.  He  aided  us  with  opinions  so 
fixed  that  neither  weariness  nor  artifice  could  shake 
them,  with  a  rare  immutability  of  will,  and  that  effi- 
cacious assistance  which  the  creation  of  meritorious 
works  always  brings  to  a  struggling  cause,  when  it 
can  claim  them  as  its  own.  He  mingled  so  many 
charms,  so  much  moderation,  so  much  knowledge 
with  his  daring  innovations,  that  the  prompt  admira- 
tion he  inspired  fully  justified  the  confidence  he  placed 
in  his  own  genius.  The  solid  studies  which  he  had 
made,  the  reflective  habits  of  his  youth,  the  worship 
for  classic  models  in  which  he  had  been  educated, 
preserved  him  from  losing  his  strength  in  blind  grop- 
ings.  in  doubtful  triumphs,  as  has  happened  to  more 
than  one  partisan  of  the  new  ideas.  His  studious 
patience  in  the  elaboration  of  his  works  sheltered 
him  from  the  critics,  who  envenomed  the  dissensions 
by  seizing  upofl  those  easy  and  insignificant  victories 
due  to  omissions,  and  the  negligence  of  inadvertence 
Early  trained  to  the  exactions  and  restrictions  of 
rules,  having  produced  compositions  filled  with  beauty 
v,'hen  subjected  to  all  their  fetters,  he  never  shook 
them  off  without  an  appropriate  cause  and  after  due 


c  H  0  r  I X. 


127 


refioction.  In  virtue  of  bis  principles  he  always  pro- 
gressed, but  without  being  led  into  exaggeration  or 
lured  by  compromise  ;  he  willingly  relinquished  theo- 
retic formulas  to  pursue  their  results.  Less  occupied 
with  the  disputes  of  the  schools  and  their  terms,  than 
in  producing  himself  the  best  argument,  a  finished 
work,  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  avoid  personal  en- 
mities and  vexatious  accomodations. 

Chopin  had  that  reverential  worship  for  art  which 
characterized  the  first  masters  of  the  middle  ages,  but 
in  expression  and  bearing  he  was  more  simple,  modern, 
and  less  ecstatic.  As  for  them,  so  art  was  for  him,  a 
high  and  holy  vocation.  Like  them  he  was  proud  of 
his  election  for  it,  and  honored  it  with  devout  piety. 
This  feeling  was  revealed  at  the  hour  of  his  death 
through  an  occurrence,  the  significance  of  which  is 
more  fully  explained  by  a  knowledge  of  the  manners 
prevalent  in  Poland.  By  a  custom  which  still  exists, 
although  it  is  now  falling  into  disuse,  the  Poles  often 
chose  the  garments  in  which  they  wished  to  be  buried, 
and  which  were  frequently  prepared  a  long  time  in 
advance.*  'J'heir  dearest  wishes  were  thus  expressed 
for  the  last  time,  their  inmost  feelings  were  thus  at 
the  hour  of  death  betrayed.  Monastic  robes  were 
frequently  chosen  by  worldly  men,  the  costumes  of 

*  General  K — ,  tbe  author  of  Julie  and  Adolphe,  a  romance  imi- 
tated from  the  New Helo'ise  which  was  much  in  vogue  at  the  time 
of  its  publication,  and  who  was  still  living  in  Vollcynia  at  the  date 
of  our  visit  to  Poland,  though  more  than  eighty  years  of  age,  in 
conformity  with  the  custom  spoken  of  above,  had  caused  his  coffin 
to  be  made,  and  for  more  than  thirty  years  it  had  always  stood  at 
the  door  of  his  chamber. 


123 


CHOPIN. 


official  charges  were  selected  or  refused  as  the  re- 
iiiCQibrances  connected  with  them  were  glorious  or 
painful.  Chopin  who,  although  among  the  first  of 
contemporary  artists,  had  given  the  fewest  concerts, 
wished,  notwithstanding,  to  be  borne  to  the  grave  in 
the  clothes  which  he  had  worn  on  such  occasions. 
A  natural  and  profound  feeling  springing  from  the 
inexhaustible  sources  of  art,  witliout  doubt  dictated 
this  dying  request,  when  having  scrupulously  fulfilled 
the  last  duties  of  a  Christian,  he  left  all  of  earth 
which  he  could  not  bear  with  him  to  the  skies.  He 
had  linked  his  love  for  art  and  his  faith  in  it  with 
immortality  long  before  the  approach  of  death,  and 
as  he  robed  himself  for  his  long  sleep  in  the  grave, 
he  gave,  as  was  customary  with  him,  by  a  mute  sym- 
bol, the  last  touching  proof  of  the  conviction  he  had 
preserved  intact  during  the  whole  course  of  his  life. 
Faithful  to  himself,  he  died  adoring  art  in  its  mystic 
greatness,  its  highest  revelations. 

In  retiring  from  the  turmoil  of  society,  Chopin  con- 
centrated his  cares  and  afl'ections  upon  the  circle  of 
his  own  family  and  his  early  acquaintances.  With- 
out any  interruption  he  preserved  close  relations  with 
them  ;  never  ceasing  to  keep  them  up  Mith  the  great- 
est care.  His  sister  Louise  was  especially  dear  to 
him,  a  resemblance  in  the  character  of  their  minds, 
the  bent  of  their  feelings,  bound  them  closely  to  each 
other.  Louise  frequently  came  from  Warsaw  to  Paris 
to  see  him.  She  spent  the  last  three  months  of  his 
life  with  the  brother  she  loved,  watching  over  him 
with  undying  affection. 


c  II  0  r  I X. 


129 


Chopin  kept  up  a  regular  correspondence  with  tlie 
members  of  his  own  family,  but  only  with  them.  It 
was  one  of  his  peculiarities  to  write  letters  to  no 
others  ;  it  might  almost  have  been  thought  that  he 
had  made  a"  vow  to  write  to  no  strangers.  It  was 
curious  enough  to  see  him  resort  to  all  kinds  of  ex- 
pedients to  escape  the  necessity  of  tracing  the  most 
insignificant  note.  Many  times  he  has  traversed  Paris 
from  one  end  to  the  other,  to  decline  an  invitation  to 
dinner,  or  to  give  some  trivial  information,  rather  than 
write  a  few  lines  which  would  have  spared  him  all  this 
trouble  and  loss  of  time.  His  handwriting  was  quite 
unknown  to  the  greatest  number  of  his  friends.  It  is 
said  he  sometimes  departed  from  this  custom  in  favor 
of  his  beautiful  countrywomen,  some  of  whom  pos- 
sess several  of  his  notes  written  in  Polish.  This  in- 
fraction of  what  seemed  to  be  a  law^  with  him,  may 
be  attributed  to  the  pleasure  he  took  in  the  use  of 
this  language.  He  always  used  it  with  the  people  of 
his  own  country,  and  loved  to  translate  its  most  ex- 
pressive phrases.  He  was  a  good  French  scholar,  as 
the  Sclaves  generally  are.  In  consequence  of  his 
French  origin,  the  language  had  been  taught  him  with 
peculiar  care.  But  he  did  not  like  it,  he  did  not  think 
it  sufficiently  sonorous,  and  he  deemed  its  genius  cold. 
This  opinion  is  very  prevalent  among  the  Poles,  who, 
although  speaking  it  with  great  facility,  often  better 
than  their  native  tongue,  and  frequently  using  it  in 
their  intercourse  with  each  other,  yet  complain  to 
those  who  do  not  speak  Polish  of  the  impossibility 
of  rendering  the  thousand  ethereal  and  shifting  modes 


130 


CHOPIN. 


of  thought  iu  any  other  idiom.  lu  their  opinion  it  is 
sometimes  dignity,  sometimes  grace,  sometimes  pas- 
sion, which  is  wanting  in  the  French  language.  If 
they  are  asked  the  meaning  of  a  word  or  a  phrase 
w^hich  they  may  have  cited  in  Polish,  the  reply  inva- 
riably is  :  "  Oh,  that  cannot  be  translated  !"  Then 
follow  explanations,  serving  as  comments  to  the  ex- 
clamation, of  all  the  subtleties,  all  the  shades  of  mean- 
ing, all  the  delicacies  contained  in  the  not  to  be  trans- 
lated words.  We  have  cited  some  examples  which, 
joined  to  others,  induce  us  to  believe  that  this  Ian- 
guage  has  the  advantage  of  making  images  of  abstract 
nouns,  and  that  in  the  course  of  its  development, 
through  the  poetic  genius  of  the  nation,  it  has  been 
enabled  to  establish  striking  and  just  relations  be- 
tween ideas  by  etymologies,  derivations,  and  syno- 
nymes. Colored  reflections  of  light  and  shade  are 
thus  thrown  upon  all  expressions,  so  that  they  neces- 
sarily call  into  vibration  through  the  mind  the  cor- 
respondent tone  of  a  third,  which  modulates  the 
thought  into  a  major  or  minor  mode.  The  richness 
of  the  la)iguage  always  permits  the  choice  of  the 
mode,  but  this  very  richness  may  become  a  diflBculty. 
It  is  not  impossible  that  the  general  use  of  foreign 
tongues  in  Poland  may  be  attributed  to  indolence  of 
mind  or  want  of  application  ;  may  be  traced  to  a  desire 
to  escape  the  necessary  labor  of  acquiring  that  mas- 
tery of  diction  indispensable  in  a  language  so  full  of 
sudden  depths,  of  laconic  energy,  that  it  is  very  difiB- 
cult,  if  not  quite  impossible,  to  support  in  it  the  com- 
monplace.   The  vague  agreements  of  badly  defined 


c  n  0  p  I  X. 


131 


ideas  cannot  be  compressed  in  the  nervous  stren^jth 
of  its  grammatical  forms  ;  the  thought,  if  it  be  really 
low,  canuot  be  elevated  from  its  debasement  or 
poverty  ;  if  it  really  soar  above  the  commonplace,  it 
requires  a  rare  precision  of  terms  not  to  appear  un- 
couth or  fantastic.  In  consequence  of  this,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  works  published,  the  Polish  literature 
should  be  able  to  show  a  greater  number  o[  chefs- 
d'œuvre  than  can  be  done  in  any  other  language.  He 
who  ventures  to  use  this  tongue,  must  feel  himself 
already  master,*    Chopin  mingled  a  charming  grace 

*  It  cannot  bo  reproached  with  a  want  of  harmonj'  or  musical 
charm.  The  harshness  of  a  lant^uage  does  not  always  and  abso- 
lutely deT)end  upon  the  number  of  cousouants,  but  rather  upon  the 
manner  of  their  association.  We  might  even  assert,  that  in  conse- 
quence of  the  absence  of  well-determined  and  strongly  marked 
sounds,  some  languages  have  a  dull  and  cold  coloring.  It  is  the 
frequent  repetition  of  certain  consonants  which  gives  shadow, 
rhythm,  and  vigor  to  a  tongue  ;  the  vowels  imparting  only  a  kind 
of  light  clear  hue,  which  requires  to  be  brought  out  by  deeper 
shades.  It  is  the  sharp,  uncouth,  or  unharmonious  clashing  of 
heterogeneous  consonants  which  strikes  the  ear  painfully.  It  is 
true  the  Sclavic  languages  make  use  of  many  consonants,  but  their 
connection  is  generally  sonorous,  sometimes  pleasant  to  the  ear, 
and  scarcely  ever  entirely  dl.scordant,  even  when  the  combinations 
are  more  striking  tlian  agreeable.  The  quality  of  the  sounds  is 
rich,  full,  and  varied.  They  are  not  straitened  and  contracted  as 
if  produced  in  a  narrow  medium,  but  extending  through  a  consider- 
able register,  range  through  a  variety  of  intonations.  The  letter  L, 
almost  impossible  for  those  to  pronounce,  who  have  not  acquired 
the  pronunciation  in  their  infancy,  has  nothing  harsh  in  its  sound. 
The  ear  receives  from  it  an  impression  similar  to  that  which  is  made 
upon  the  fingers  by  the  touch  of  a  thick  woolen  velvet,  rough,  but 
at  the  same  time,  yielding.  The  union  of  jarring  consonants  being 
rare,  and  the  assonances  easily  multiplied,  the  same  comparison 
might  be  employed  to  the  eusomblo  of  the  effect  produced  by  these 

12 


132 


CHOPIN. 


with  all  the  intercourse  which  he  held  with  Lis  rela- 
tives. Not  satisfied  with  liraitiug  his  whole  corres- 
pondence to  them  alone,  he  profited  by  his  stay  in 

idioms  upon  foreigners.  Many  words  occur  in  Polish  which  imitate 
tlie  sound  of  the  thing  designated  by  them.  The  frequent  repetition 
of  ch,  (h  aspirated,';  of  sz,  {ch  in  French, >  of  rz,  of  cz,  so  frightful  to  a 
profane  eye,  have  however  nothing  barbaric  in  their  sounds,  being 
pronounced  nearly  like  geai,  and  tche,  and  greatly  facilitate  imi' 
tat';oas  of  the  sense  by  the  sound.  The  word  dztciek,  (read 
dziciinquey''  meaning  sound,  offers  a  characteristic  example  of  this  ; 
it  wouid  be  difficult  to  find  a  word  which  would  reproduce  more 
accurately  the  sensation  which  a  diapason  mates  upon  the  ear. 
Among  the  consonants  accumulated  in  groups,  producing  very  dif- 
ferent sounds,  sometimes  metallic,  sometimes  buzzing,  hissing  or 
rambling,  many  diphthongs  and  vowels  are  mingled,  which  some- 
times become  slightly  nasal,  the  a  and  e  being  sounded  as  on 
and  I»,  (in  French,)  when  they  are  accompanied  by  a  cedilla. 
In  juxtaposition  with  the  c,  which  is  pronounced  with  great 
softness,  sometimes  <r,  (tsU,)  the  accented  *  is  almost  warbled.  The 
z  has  three  sounds:  the  i,  (iai>,)  the  z,  {zed,)  and  the  2,  (zied).  The 
y  forms  a  vowel  of  a  muffled  tone,  which,  as  the  L,  cannot  be  repre- 
sented by  any  equivalent  sound  in  French,  and  which  like  it  gives 
a  variety  of  ineffivble  shades  to  the  language.  These  fine  and  light 
elements  enable  the  Polish  women  to  assume  a  lingering  and  sing- 
ing accent,  which  they  usually  transport  into  other  tongues.  When 
the  subjects  are  serious  or  melancholy,  after  such  recitatives  or 
improvised  lamentations,  they  have  a  sort  of  lisping  infantile 
manner  of  speaking,  which  they  vary  by  light  silvery  laughs,  little 
interjeciional  cries,  short  musical  pauses  upon  the  higher  notes, 
from  which  they  descend  by  one  knows  not  what  chromatic  scale 
of  demi  and  quarter  tones  to  rest  upon  some  low  note  ;  and  again 
pursue  the  varied,  brusque  and  original  modulations  which  astonish 
Ihe  ear  not  accustomed  to  such  lovely  warf>lings,  to  which  they 
sometimes  give  that  air  of  caressing  irony,  of  cunning  mockery, 
peculiar  to  the  song  of  some  birds.  They  love  to  zimiluler,  and 
charming  changes,  piquant  intervals,  unexpected  cadences  naturally 
find  place  in  this  fondling  prattle,  making  the  lauguage  far  more 
sweei  and  caressing  when  spoken  by  the  women,  than  it  is  in  the 
mouths  of  the  men.   The  men  indeed  pride  theQU^elves  upon  speak- 


C  H  0  P  I  X, 


133 


Paris  to  procure  for  them  the  thousand  agreeable 
surprises  given  by  the  novelties,  the  bagatelles,  the 
little  gifts  which  chario  through  their  beauty,  or 
attract  as  being  the  first  seen  of  their  kind.  He 
sought  for  all  that  he  had  reason  to  believe  would 
please  his  friends  in  Warsaw,  adding  constant  pre- 
sents to  his  many  letters.  It  was  his  wish  that  his 
gifts  should  be  preserved,  that  through  the  memories 
linked  with  them  he  might  be  often  remembeçcd  by 
those  to  whom  they  were  sent.  He  attached  the 
greatest  importance,  on  his  side,  to  all  the  evidences 
of  their  affection  for  him.    To  receive  news  or  some 

ing  it  with  ele^^ance,  impressing  upon  it  a  masculine  sonorousness, 
which  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  energetic  movements  of  manly 
elojuence,  formerly  so  ninch  cultivated  in  Poland.  Poetry  com- 
mands such  a  diversity  of  prosodies,  of  rhymes,  of  rhythms,  such  an 
abundance  of  assonances  from  these  rich  and  varied  materials,  that 
it  is  almost  possible  to  follow  viusically  the  feelings  and  scenes 
which  it  depicts,  not  only  in  mere  expressions  in  which  the  sound 
repeats  the  sense,  bnt  also  in  long  declamations.  The  analogy 
between  the  Polish  and  Kussian,  has  been  compared  to  that  which 
obtains  between  the  Latin  and  Italian.  The  Russian  language  is  in- 
deed more  mellifluous,  more  lingering,  more  caressing,  fuller  of  sighs 
than  the  Polish.  Its  cadencing  is  peculiarly  fitted  for  song.  The 
finer  poems,  such  as  those  of  Zukowski  and  Pouchkin,  seem  to  con- 
tain a  melody  already  de>-ignated  in  the  metre  of  the  verses  ;  for 
example,  it  would  appear  quite  possible  to  detach  an  arioso  or  a 
ewnct  cantahile  from  some  of  the  stanzas  of  Le  Cliale  noir,  or 
tlie  Talisman.  The  ancient  Sclavonic,  which  is  the  language  of 
tlie  Eastern  Church,  possesses  great  majesty.  More  guttural  than 
the  idioms  which  have  arisen  from  it,  it  is  severe  and  monotonous 
yet  of  great  dignity,  like  the  Byzantine  paintings  preserved  in  the 
worship  to  which  it  is  consecrated.  It  has  throughout  the  charac- 
teristics of  a  sacred  language  which  has  only  been  used  for  the  ex- 
pression of  one  feeling,  and  has  never  been  modulated  or  ashioned 
by  profane  wants. 


134 


CHOPIN. 


mark  of  their  remembrance,  was  always  a  festival  for 
him.  He  never  shared  this  pleasure  with  any  one, 
but  it  was  plainly  visible  in  his  conduct.  He  took 
the  greatest  care  of  every  thing  that  came  from  his 
distant  friends,  the  least  of  their  gifts  was  precious 
to  him,  he  never  allowed  others  to  make  use  of  them, 
indeed  he  was  visibly  uneasy  if  they  touched  them. 

Material  elegance  was  as  natural  to  him  as  mental  ; 
this  was  evinced  in  the  objects  with  which  he  sur- 
rounded himself,  as  well  as  in  tlie  aristocratic  grace 
of  his  manners.  He  was  passionately  fond  of  flowers. 
Without  aiming  at  the  brilliant  luxury  with  which, 
at  that  epoch,  some  of  the  celebrities  in  Paris  deco- 
rated their  apartments,  he  knew  how  to  keep  upon 
this  point,  as  well  as  in  his  style  of  dress,  the  in- 
stinctive line  of  perfect  propriety. 

Not  wishing  the  course  of  his  life,  his  thoughts,  his 
time,  to  be  associated  or  shackled  in  any  way  by  the 
pursuits  of  others,  he  preferred  the  society  of  ladies, 
as  less  apt  to  force  him  into  subsequent  relations. 
He  willingly  spent  whole  evenings  in  playing  blind 
man's  buff  with  the  young  people,  telling  them  little 
stories  to  make  them  break  into  the  silvery  laughs  of 
youth,  sweeter  than  the  song  of  the  nightingale. 
He  was  fond  of  a  life  in  the  country,  or  the  life  of 
the  château.  He  was  ingenious  in  varying  its 
amusements,  in  multiplying  its  enjoyments.  He  also 
loved  to  compose  there.  Many  of  his  best  works 
written  in  such  moments,  perhaps  embalm  and  hallow 
the  memories  -pf  his  happiest  days. 


CHAPTER  YI. 


Birth  and  Early  Life  of  Chopin — National  Artists— Chopin  resumes 
in  himself  the  poetic  sense  of  his  whole  nation — Opinion  of 
Beethoven, 

Chopin  was  born  in  1810,  at  Zelazowa-Wola,  near 
Warsaw.  Unlike  most  other  children,  he  could  not, 
during  his  childhood,  remember  his  own  age,  and  the 
date  of  his  birth  was  only  fixed  in  his  memory  by  a 
watch  given  him  in  1820  by  Madame  Catalani, 
which  bore  the  following  inscription  :  "  Madame 
Catalani  to  Frederic  Chopin,  aged  ten  years." 
Perhaps  the  presentiments  of  the  artist  gave  to  the 
child  a  foresight  of  his  future  !  Nothing  extraordi- 
nary marked  the  course  of  his  boyhood  ;  his  internal 
development  traversed  but  few  phases,  and  gave  but 
few  manifestations.  As  he  was  fragile  and  sickly, 
the  attention  of  his  family  was  concentrated  upon  his 
health.  Doubtless  it  was  from  this  cause  that  he 
acquired  his  habits  of  affability,  his  patience  under 
suffering,  his  endurance  of  every  annoyance  with  a 
good  grace  ;  qualities  which  he  early  acquired  from 
his  wish  to  calm  the  constant  anxiety  that  was  felt 
with  regard  to  him.  No  precocity  of  his  faculties, 
no  precursory  sign  of  remarkable  development, 
revealed,  in  his  early  years,  his  future  superiority 
of  soul,  mind,  or  capacity.  The  little  creature  was 
seen  suffering  indeed,  but  always  trying  to  smile, 
patient  and  apparently  happy,  and  his  friends  were 

135 


136 


CHOPIN. 


SO  glad  that  lie  did  not  become  moody  or  morose, 
that  they  were  satisfied  to  cherish  his  good  qualities, 
believing  that  he  opened  his  heart  to  them  without 
reserve,  and  gave  to  them  all  his  secret  thoughts. 
But  there  are  souls  among  us  who  resemble  rich 
travelers  thrown  among  simple  herdsmen,  loading 
thom  with  gifts  during  their  sojourn  among  them, 
truly  not  at  all  in  proportion  to  their  own  wealth,  yet 
which  are  quite  sufficient  to  astonish  the  poor  hosts, 
and  to  spread  riches  and  happiness  in  the  midst  of 
such  simple  habits.  It  is  true  that  such  souls  give 
as  much  affection,  it  may  be  more,  than  those  who 
surtound  them  ;  every  body  is  pleased  with  them, 
they  are  supposed  to  have  been  generous,  when  the 
truth  is  that  in  comparison  with  their  boundless 
wealth  they  have  not  been  liberal,"  and  have  given 
but  little  of  their  store  of  internal  treasure. 

The  habits  in  which  Chopin  grew  up,  in  which  he 
was  rocked  as  in  a  form-strengthening  cradle,  were 
those  peculiar  to  calm,  occupied,  and  tranquil  char- 
acters. These  early  examples  of  simplicity,  piety, 
and  integrity,  always  remained  the  nearest  and 
dearest  to  him.  Domestic  virtues,  religious  habits, 
pious  charities,  and  rigid  modesty,  surrounded  him 
from  his  infancy  with  that  pure  atmosphere  in  which 
his  rich  imagination  assumed  the  velvety  tenderness 
characterizing  the  plants  which  have  never  been  ex- 
posed to  the  dust  of  the  beaten  highways. 

He  commenced  the  study  of  music  at  an  early  age, 
being  but  nine  years  old  when  he  began  to  learn  it. 
Shortly  after  he  was  confided  to  a  passionate  disciple 


CHOPIN. 


137 


of  Sebastian  Bacli's,Ziwna,  who  directed  his  studies 
during  many  years  in  accordance  with  the  most 
classic  models.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  when 
he  embraced  the  career  of  a  musician,  any  prestige 
of  vain  glory,  any  fantastic  perspective,  dazzled  his 
eyes,  or  excited  the  hopes  of  his  family.  In  order  to 
become  a  skillful  and  able  master,  he  studied  se- 
riously and  conscientiously,  without  dreaming  of  the 
greater  or  less  amount  of  fame  he  would  be  able  to 
obtain  as  the  fruit  of  his  lessons  and  assiduous 
labors. 

In  consequence  of  the  generous  and  discriminating 
protection  always  granted  by  Prince  Antoine  Radzi- 
will  to  the  arts,  and  to  genius,  which  he  had  the 
power  of  recognizing  both  as  a  man  of  intellect  and 
as  a  distinguished  artist  ;  Chopin  was  early  placed 
in  one  of  the  first  colleges  in  Warsaw.  Prince  Rad- 
ziwill  did  not  cultivate  music  only  as  a  simple  dillc- 
tante,  he  was  also  a  remarkable  composer.  His 
beautiful  rendering  of  Faust,  published  some  years 
ago,  and  executed  at  fixed  epochs  by  the  Academy 
of  Song  at  Berlin,  appears  to  us  far  superior  to  any 
other  attempts  which  have  been  made  to  transport 
it  into  the  realm  of  music,  by  its  close  internal  ap- 
propriateness to  the  peculiar  genius  of  the  poem. 
Assisting  the  limited  means  of  the  family  of  Chopin, 
the  Prince  made  him  the  inestimable  gift  of  a 
finished  education,  of  which  no  part  had  been  ne- 
glected. Through  the  person  of  a  friend,  M.  Antoine 
Korzuchowski,  whose  own  elevated  mind  enabled 
him  to  understand  the  requirements  of  an  artistic 


138 


c  lî  0  r  I N. 


career,  the  Prince  always  paid  his  pension  from  his 
first  entrance  into  college,  until  the  completion  of 
his  studies.  From  this  time  until  the  death  of 
Chopin,  M.  Antoine  Korzuchowski  always  held  the 
closest  relations  of  friendship  with  him. 

In  speaking  of  this  period  of  his  life,  it  gives  us 
pleasure  to  quote  the  charming  lines  which  may  be 
applied  to  him  more  justly,  than  other  pages  in 
which  his  character  is  believed  to  have  been  traced, 
but  in  which  we  only  find  it  distorted,  and  in  such 
false  proportions  as  are  given  in  a  profile  drawn  upon 
an  elastic  tissue,  which  has  been  pulled  athwart, 
biased  by  contrary  movements  during  the  whole  pro- 
gress of  the  sketch.* 

"  Gentle,  sensitive,  and  very  lovely,  at  fifteen  years 
of  age  he  united  the  charms  of  adolescence  with  the 
gravity  of  a  more  mature  age.  He  was  delicate  both 
in  body  and  in  mind.  Through  the  want  of  muscular 
development  he  retained  a  peculiar  beauty,  an  excep- 
tional physiognomy,  which  had,  if  we  may  venture 
so  to  speak,  neither  age  nor  sex.  It  was  not  the  bold 
and  masculine  air  of  a  descendant  of  a  race  of  Mag- 
nates, who  knew  nothing  but  drinking,  hunting  and 
making  war  ;  neither  was  it  the  eflFeminate  loveliness 
of  a  cherub  couleur  de  rose.  It  was  more  like  the 
ideal  creations  with  which  the  poetry  of  the  middle 

*  These  extracts,  with  many  that  succeed  them,  in  which  the 
character  of  Chopia  is  described,  are  taken  from  Lucrezia  Floriani, 
a  novel  by  Madame  Sand,  in  which  the  leading  characters  are  said 
to  be  intended  to  represent  Liszt,  Chopin,  and  herself.— of  th« 
Translator. 


C  II  O  P  I  N. 


130 


ages  adorned  the  Christian  temples  :  a  beautiful  angel, 
with  a  form  pure  and  slight  as  a  young  God  of  Olym- 
pus, with  a  face  like  that  of  a  majestic  woman  filled 
with  a  divine  sorrow,  and  as  the  crown  of  all,  an  ex- 
pression at  the  same  time  tender  and  severe,  chaste 
and  impassioned. 

"  This  expression  revealed  the  depths  of  his  being. 
Nothing  could  be  purer, -more  exalted  than  his 
thoughts  ;  nothing  more  tenacious,  more  exclusive, 

more  intensely  devoted,  than  his  affections  

But  he  could  only  understand  that  which  closely  re- 
sembled himself.  ....  Every  thing  else  only  existed 
fjr  him  as  a  kind  of  annoying  dream,  which  he  tried 
to  shake  off  while  living  with  the  rest  of  the  world. 
Always  plunged  in  reveries,  realities  displeased  him. 
As  a  child  he  could  never  touch  a  sharp  instrument 
without  injuring  himself  with  it  ;  as  a  man,  he  never 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  being  different  from 
himself  without  being  wounded  by  the  living  contra- 
diction  

*'  He  was  preserved  from  constant  antagonism  by  a 
voluntary  and  almost  inveterate  habit  of  never  seeing 
or  hearing  any  thing  which  was  disagreeable  to  him, 
unless  it  touched  upon  his  personal  affections.  The 
beings  who  did  not  think  as  he  did,  were  only  phan- 
toms in  his  eyes.  As  his  manners  were  polished  and 
graceful,  it  was  easy  to  mistake  his  cold  disdain  or 
insurmountable  aversion  for  benevolent  courtesy.  .  .  . 

"  He  never  spent  an  hour  in  open-hearted  expansive- 
ness,  without  compensating  for  it  by  a  season  of  re- 
serve. The  moral  causes  which  induced  such  reserve 


140 


C  H  0  P  I  X, 


were  too  slight,  too  subtle,  to  be  discovered  by  the 
naked  eye.  It  was  necessary  to  use  the  microscope 
to  read  his  soul,  into  which  so  little  of  the  light  of 
the  living  ever  penetrated  

"  "With  such  a  character,  it  seems  strange  he  should 
have  had  friends  :  yet  he  had  them,  not  only  the 
friends  of  his  mother  who  esteemed  him  as  the  noble 
son  of  a  noble  mother, -but  friends  of  his  own  age, 
who  loved  him  ardently,  and  who  were  loved  by  him 

ir.  return  ITe  had  formed  a  high  ideal  of 

friendship  ;  in  the  age  of  early  illusions  he  loved  to 
think  that  his  friends  and  himself,  brought  up  nearly 
in  the  same  manner,  with  the  same  principles,  would 
never  change  their  opinions,  and  that  no  formal  disa- 
greement could  ever  occur  between  them. 

"He  was  externally  so  affectionate,  his  education 
had  been  so  finished,  and  he  possessed  so  much  natu- 
ral grace,  that  he  had  the  gift  of  pleasing  even  where 
lie  was  not  personally  known.  His  exceeding  loveli- 
ness was  immediately  prepossessing,  the  delicacy  of 
his  constitution  rendered  him  interesting  in  the  eyes 
of  women,  the  full  yet  graceful  cultivation  of  his 
mind,  the  sweet  and  captivating  originality  of  his 
conversation,  gained  for  him  the  attention  of  the 
most  enlightened  men.  Men  less  highly  cultivated, 
liked  him  for  his  exquisite  courtesy  of  manner.  They 
were  so  much  the  more  pleased  with  this,  because,  in 
their  simplicity,  they  never  imagined  it  was  the  grace- 
ful fulfillment  of  a  duty  int  ^  which  no  real  sympathy 
entered. 


C  H  O  P  I  X. 


141 


"  Could  such  people  have  divined  the  secrets  of  his 
mystic  character,  they  would  have  said  he  was  more 
amiable  than  loving — and  with  respect  to  them,  this 
would  have  been  true.  But  how  could  they  have 
known  that  his  real,  though  rare  attachments,  were 
so  vivid,  so  profound,  so  uudying  ?  

"Association  with  him  in  the  details  of  life  was  de- 
lightful. He  filled  all  the  forms  of  friendship  with 
an  unaccustomed  charm,  and  when  he  expressed  his 
gratitude,  it  was  with  that  deep  emotion  which  re- 
compenses kindness  with  usury.  He  willingly  ima- 
gined that  he  felt  himself  every  day  dying  ;  he  accepted 
the  cares  of  a  friend,  hiding  from  him  lest  it  should 
render  him  unhappy,  the  little  time  he  expected  to 
profit  by  them.  He  possessed  great  physical  courage, 
and  if  he  did  not  accept  with  the  heroic  recklessness 
of  youth  the  idea  of  approaching  death,  at  least  he 
cherished  the  expectation  of  it  with  a  kind  of  bitter 
pleasure."  

The  attachment  which  he  felt  for  a  young  lady,  who 
never  ceased  to  feel  a  reverential  homage  for  him, 
may  be  traced  back  to  his  early  youth.  The  tempest 
which  in  one  of  its  sudden  gusts  tore  Chopin  from 
his  native  soil,  like  a  bird  dreamy  and  abstracted  sur- 
prised by  the  storm  upon  the  branches  of  a  foreign 
tree,  sundered  the  ties  of  this  first  love,  and  robbed 
the  exile  of  a  faithful  and  devoted  wife,  as  well  as 
disinherited  him  of  a  country.  He  never  found  the 
realization  of  that  happiness  of  which  he  had  once 
dreamed  with  her,  though  he  won  the  glory  of  which 


142 


c  H  o  p  I  y. 


perhaps  he  had  never  thought.  Like  the  Madonnas 
of  Lnlni  whose  looks  are  so  full  of  earnest  tender- 
ness, this  young  girl  was  svreet  and  beautiful.  She 
lived  on  calm,  but  sad.  No  doubt  the  sadness  in- 
creased in  that  pure  soul  when  she  knew  that  no  de- 
votion tender  as  her  own,  ever  came  to  sweeten  the 
existence  of  one  whom  she  had  adored  with  that  in- 
genuous submission,  that  exclusive  devotion,  that 
entire  self-forgetfulness,  naïve  and  sublime,  which 
transform  the  woman  into  the  angel. 

Those  who  are  gifted  by  nature  with  the  beautiful, 
yet  fatal  energies  of  genius,  and  who  are  consequently 
forbidden  to  sacrifice  the  care  of  their  glory  to  the 
exactions  of  their  love,  are  probably  right  in  fixing 
limits  to  the  abnegation  of  their  own  personality. 
But  the  divine  emotions  due  to  absolute  devotion, 
may  be  regretted  even  in  the  presence  of  the  most 
sparkling  endowments  of  genius.  The  utter  sub- 
mission, the  disinterestedness  of  love,  in  absorbing 
the  existence,  the  will,  the  very  name  of  the  woman  in 
that  of  the  man  she  loves,  can  alone  authorize  him  in 
believing  that  he  has  really  shared  his  life  with  her, 
and  that  his  honorable  love  for  her  has  given  her  that 
which  no  chance  lover,  accidentally  met,  could  have 
rendered  her  :  peace  of  heart  and  the  honor  of  his 
name. 

This  young  Polish  lady,  unfortunately  separated 
from  Chopin,  remained  faithful  to  his  memory,  to  all 
that  was  left  of  him.  She  devoted  herself  to  his  pa- 
rents.   The  father  of  Chopin  would  never  suffer  the 


CHOPIN. 


143 


portrait  TA  iiich  i'ie  had  drawn  of  him  in  the  days  of 
hope,  to  be  replaced  by  another,  though  from  the 
hands  of  a  far  more  skilful  artist.  We  saw  the  pale 
cheeks  of  this  melancholy  woman,  glow  like  alabaster 
when  a  light  shines  through  its  snow,  many  years 
afterwards,  when  in  gazing  upon  this  picture,  she  met 
the  eyes  of  his  father. 

The  amiable  character  of  Chopin  won  for  him 
while  at  college  the  love  of  his  fellow  collegiates, 
particularly  that  of  Prince  Czetwertynski  and  his 
brothers.  He  often  spent  the  vacations  and  days  of 
festival  with  them  at  the  house  of  their  mother,  the 
Princess  Louise  Czetwertynska,  who  cultivated  music 
with  a  true  feeling  for  its  beauties,  and  who  soon  dis- 
covered the  poet  in  the  musician.  Perhaps  she  was 
the  first  who  made  Chopin  feel  the  charm  of  being 
understood,  as  well  as  heard.  The  Princess  was  sti41 
beautiful,  and  possessed  a  sympathetic  soul  united  to 
many  high  qualities.  Her  saloon  was  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  and  recherché  in  Warsaw.  Chopin  often  met 
there  the  most  distinguished  women  of  the  city.  He  be- 
came acquainted  there  with  those  fascinating  beauties 
who  had  acquired  a  European  celebrity,  when  Warsaw 
was  so  famed  for  the  brilliancy,  elegance,  and  grace  of 
its  society.  He  was  introduced  by  the  Princess  Czetwer- 
tynska to  the  Princess  of  Lowicz  ;  by  her  he  was  pre- 
sented to  the  Countess  Zamoyska  ;  to  the  Princess  Rad- 
ziwill;  to  the  Princess  Jablonowska;  enchantresses, 
surrounded  by  many  beauties  little  less  illustrious. 

While  still  very  young,  he  has  often  cadenced  their 

13 


114 


C  H  0  P  I  X. 


steps  to  the  chords  of  his  piano.  In  these  meetings, 
which  might  almost  be  called  assemblies  of  fairies, 
he  may  often  have  discovered,  unveiled  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  dance,  the  secrets  of  enthusiastic  and 
tender  souls.  He  could  easily  read  the  hearts  which 
were  attracted  to  him  by  friendship  and  the  grace  of 
his  youth,  and  thus  was  enabled  early  to  learn  of 
what  a  strange  mixture  of  leaven  and  cream  of  roses, 
of  gunpowder  and  tears  of  angels,  the  poetic  Ideal 
of  his  nation  is  formed.  When  his  wandering  fingers 
ran  over  the  keys,  suddenly  touching  some  moving 
chords  he  could  see  how  the  furtive  tears  coursed 
down  the  cheeks  of  the  loving  girl,  or  the  young 
neglected  wife  ;  how  they  moistened  the  eyes  of  the 
young  men,  enamored  of,  and  eager  for  glory.  Can 
we  not  fancy  some  young  beauty  asking  him  to  play 
a  simple  prelude,  then  softened  by  the  tones,  leaning 
her  rounded  arm  upon  the  instrument  to  support  her 
dreaming  head,  while  she  suffered  the  young  artist  to 
divine  in  the  dewy  glitter  of  the  lustrous  eyes,  the 
song  sung  by  her  youthful  heart?  Did  not  groups, 
like  sportive  nymphs,  throng  around  him,  and  beg- 
ging him  for  some  waltz  of  giddying  rapidity,  smile 
upon  him  with  such  wildering  joyousness.  as  to  put 
him  immediately  in  unison  with  the  gay  spirit  of  the 
dance  ?  He  saw  there  the  chaste  grace  of  his  bril- 
liant countrywomen  displayed  in  the  Mazourka,  and 
the  memories  of  their  witching  fascination,  their  win- 
ning reserve,  were  never  effaced  from  his  soul. 

In  an  apparently  careless  manner,  but  with  that  in- 
voluntary and  subdued  emotion  which  accompanies 


CHOPIN. 


145 


the  remembrance  of  our  early  delights,  he  would 
sometimes  remark  that  he  first  understood  the  whole 
meaning  of  the  feeling  which  is  contained  in  the 
melodies  and  rhythms  of  national  dances,  upon  the 
days  in  which  he  saw  these  exquisite  fairies  at  some 
magic  fête,  adorned  with  that  brilliant  coquetry  which 
sparkles  like  electric  fire,  and  flashing,  from  heart 
to  heart,  heightens  love,  blinds  it,  or  robs  it  of  all 
hope.  And  when  the  muslins  of  India,  which  the 
Greeks  would  have  said  were  woven  of  air,  were  re- 
placed by  the  heavier  folds  of  "Venetian  velvet  and 
the  perfumed  roses  and  sculptured  petals  of  the  hot- 
house camélias  gave  way  to  the  gorgeous  bouquets 
of  the  jewel  caskets;  it  often  seemed  to  him  that 
however  good  the  orchestra  might  be,  the  dancers 
glided  less  rapidly  over  the  floor,  that  their  laugh 
was  less  sonorous,  their  eye  less  luminous,  than  upon 
those  evenings  in  which  the  dance  had  been  suddenly 
improvised,  because  he  had  succeeded  in  electrifying 
his  audience  through  the  magic  of  his  performance. 
If  he  electrified  them,  it  was  because  he  repeated, 
truly  in  hieroglyphic  tones,  but  yet  easily  understood 
by  the  initiated,  the  secret  whispers  which  his  deli- 
cate ear  had  caught  from  the  reserved  yet  impas- 
sioned hearts,  which  indeed  resemble  the  Fraxinella, 
that  plant  so  full  of  burning  and  vivid  life,  that  its 
flowers  are  always  surrounded  by  a  gas  as  subtle  as 
inflammable.  He  had  seen  celestial  visions  glitter, 
and  illusory  phantoms  fade  in  this  sublimated  air  ;  lie 
had  divined  the  meaning  of  the  swarms  of  passions 
which  are  forever  buzzing  in  it  ;  he  knew  how  these 


146 


CHOPIN. 


hurtling  emotions  fluttered  through  the  reckless  hu- 
man soul  ;  how,  notwithstanding  their  ceaseless  agi- 
tation and  excitement,  they  could  intermingle,  inter- 
-svcave,  intercept  each  other,  without  once  disturbing 
the  exquisite  proportions  of  external  grace,  the  im- 
posing and  classic  charm  of  manner.  Tt  was  thus 
that  he  learned  to  prize  so  highly  the  noble  and 
measured  manners  which  preserve  delicacy  from  in- 
sipidity ;  petty  cares  from  wearisome  trifling  ;  con- 
ventionalism from  tyranny  ;  good  taste  from  cold- 
ness ;  and  which  never  permit  the  passions  to  resemble, 
as  is  often  the  case  where  such  careful  culture  does 
not  rule,  those  stony  and  calcareous  vegetables  whose 
hard  and  brittle  growth  takes  a  name  of  such  sad 
contrast:  flowers  of  iron  [Flosferri). 

His  early  introduction  into  this  society,  in  which 
regularity  of  form  did  not  conceal  petrifaction  of 
heart  induced  Chopin  to  think  that  the  convenances 
and  courtesies  of  manner,  in  place  of  being  only  a 
uniform  mask,  repressing  the  character  of  each  indi- 
vidual under  the  symmetry  of  the  same  lines,  rather 
serve  to  contain  the  passions  without  stifling  them, 
coloring  only  that  bald  crudity  of  tone  which  is  so 
injurious  to  their  beauty,  elevating  that  materialism 
which  debases  them,  robbing  them  of  that  license 
which  vulgarises  them,  lowering  that  vehemence 
which  vitiates  them,  pruning  that  exuberance  which 
exhausts  them,  teaching  the  "  lovers  of  the  ideal"  to 
unite  the  virtues  which  have  sprung  from  a  knowl- 
edge of  evil,  with  those  "  which  cause  its  very  exist- 
ence to  be  forgotten  in  speaking  to  those  they  love." 


CHOPIN. 


147 


As  these  visions  of  his  youth  deepened  iu  the  long 
perspective  of  memories,  they  gained  in  grace,  in 
charm,  in  delight,  in  his  eyes,  fascinating  him  to  such 
an  extent  that  no  reality  could  destroy  their  secret 
power  over  his  imagination,  rendering  his  repugnance 
more  and  more  unconquerable  to  that  license  of  al- 
lurement, that  brutal  tyranny  of  caprice,  that  eager- 
ness to  drink  the  cup  of  fantasy  to  the  very  dregs, 
that  stormy  pursuit  of  all  the  changes  and  incongrui- 
ties of  life,  which  rule  in  the  strange  mode  of  life 
known  as  La  Bohême. 

More  than  once  in  the  history  of  art  and  literature, 
a  poet  has  arisen,  resuming  in  himself  the  poetic 
sense  of  a  whole  nation,  an  entire  epoch,  representing 
the  types  wliich  his  cotemporaries  pursue  and  strive 
to  realize,  in  an  absolute  manner  in  his  works  :  such 
a  poet  was  Chopin  for  his  country  and  for  the  epoch 
in  which  he  was  born.  The  poetic  sentiments  the 
most  widely  spread,  yet  the  most  intimate  and  in- 
herent of  his  nation,  were  resumed  and  united  in  his 
imagination,  and  represented  by  his  brilliant  genius. 
Poland  has  given  birth  to  many  bards,  some  of  whom 
rank  among  the  first  poets  of  the  world. 

Its  writers  are  now  making  strenuous  efforts  to 
display  in  the  strongest  light,  the  most  glorious  and 
interesting  facts  of  its  history,  the  most  peculiar  and 
picturesque  phases  of  its  manners  and  customs. 
Chopin,  differing  from  them  in  having  formed  no 
premeditated  design,  surpasses  them  all  in  originality. 
He  did  not  determine  upon,  he  did  not  seek  such  a 
result  ;  he  created  no  ideal  a 'priori.    AVithout  having 


148 


CHOPIN. 


predetermined  to  transport  himself  into  the  past,  he 
constantly  remembered  the  glories  of  his  country,  he 
understood  and  sung  the  loves  and  tears  of  his  co- 
temporaries  ^Yilhout  having  analyzed  them  in  ad- 
vance. He  did  not  task  himself,  nor  study  to  be  a 
national  musician.  Like  all  truly  national  poets, 
he  sang  spontaneously  without  premeditated  design 
or  preconceived  choice  all  that  inspiration  dictated 
to  him,  as  we  hear  it  gushing  forth  in  his  songs 
without  labor,  almost  without  efiFort.  He  repeated 
in  the  most  idealized  form  the  emotions  which  had 
animated  and  embellished  his  youth  ;  under  the  magic 
delicacy  of  his  pen  he  displayed  the  Ideal,  which  is, 
if  we  may  be  permitted  so  to  speak,  the  Real  among 
his  people;  an  Ideal  really  in  existence  among  them, 
w^hich  every  one  in  general  and  each  one  in  particular 
approaches  by  the  one  or  the  other  of  its  many  sides. 
Without  assuming  to  do  so,  he  collected  in  luminous 
sheaves  the  impressions  felt  everywhere  throughout 
his  country — vaguely  felt  it  is  true,  yet  in  fragments 
pervading  all  hearts.  Is  it  not  by  this  power  of 
reproducing  in  a  poetic  formula,  enchanting  to  the 
imagination  of  all  nations,  the  indefinite  shades  of 
feeling  widely  scattered  but  frequently  met  among 
their  compatriots,  that  the  artists  truly  national  are 
distinguished  ? 

Not  without  reason  has  the  task  been  undertaken 
of  collecting  the  melodies  indigenous  to  every  coun- 
try. It  appears  to  us  it  would  be  of  still  deeper  in- 
terest, to  trace  the  influences  forming  the  character- 
istic powers  of  the  authors  most  deeply  inspired  by 


c  n  0  p  I X. 


149 


the  genius  of  the  nation  to  which  they  belong. 
Until  the  present  epoch  there  have  been  very  few 
distinctive  compositions,  which  stand  out  from  the 
two  great  divisions  of  the  German  and  Italian  schools 
of  music.  But  with  the  immense  development  which 
this  art  seems  destined  to  attain,  perhaps  renewing 
for  us  the  glorious  era  of  the  Painters  of  the  Cinque 
Cento,  it  is  highly  probable  that  composers  will 
appear  whose  works  will  be  marked  by  an  originality 
drawn  from  differences  of  organization,  of  races,  and 
of  climates.  It  is  to  be  presumed  that  we  will  be 
able  to  recognize  the  influences  of  the  country  in 
which  they  were  born  upon  the  great  masters  in 
music,  as  well  as  in  the  other  arts  ;  that  we  will  be 
able  to  distinguish  the  peculiar  and  predominant 
traits  of  the  national  genius  more  completely  de- 
veloped, more  poetically  true,  more  interesting  to 
study,  in  the  pages  of  their  compositions  than  in  the 
crude,  incorrect,  uncertain,  vague  and  tremulous 
sketches  of  the  uncultured  peoi)le. 

Chopin  must  be  ranked  among  the  first  musicians 
thus  individualizing  in  themselves  the  poetic  sense 
of  an  entire  nation,  not  because  he  adopted  the 
rhythm  of  Polonaises,  Mazourkas,  and  Cracoviennes, 
and  called  many  of  his  works  by  such  names,  for  in 
so  doing  he  would  have  limited  himself  to  the  multi- 
plication of  such  works  alone,  and  would  always 
have  given  us  the  same  mode,  the  remembrance  of 
the  same  thing  ;  a  reproduction  which  would  soon 
have  grown  wearisome,  serving  but  to  multiply  com- 
positions of  similar  form,  which  must  have  soon 


Ç  II  0  P  I  N. 


grown  more  or  less  monotonous.  It  is  becaupe  lie 
filled  these  forms  with  the  feelings  peculiar  to  his 
country,  because  the  expression  of  the  national  heart 
may  be  found  under  all  the  modes  in  which  he  has 
written,  that  he  is  entitled  to  be  considered  a  poet 
essentially  Polish.  His  Préludes,  his  Nocturnes,  his 
Scherzos,  his  Concertos,  his  shortest  as  well  as  his 
longest  compositions,  are  all  filled  with  the  national 
sensibility,  expressed  indeed  in  different  degrees, 
modified  and  varied  in  a  thousand  ways,  but  always 
bearing  the  same  character.  An  eminently  subjec- 
tive author,  Chopin  has  given  the  same  life  to  all  his 
productions,  animated  all  his  works  with  his  own 
spirit.  All  his  writings  are  thus  linked  by  a  marked 
unity.  Their  beauties  as  well  as  their  defects  may 
be  traced  to  the  same  order  of  emotions,  to  peculiar 
modes  of  feeling.  The  reproduction  of  the  feelings 
of  his  people,  idealized  and  elevated  through  his  own 
subjective  genius,  is  an  essential  requisite  for  the 
national  poet  who  desires  that  the  heart  of  his 
country  should  vibrate  in  unison  with  his  own 
strains. 

By  the  analogies  of  words  and  images,  we  should 
like  to  render  it  possible  for  our  readers  to  compre- 
hend the  exquisite  yet  irritable  sensibility  peculiar 
to  ardent  yet  susceptible  hearts,  to  haughty  yet 
deeply  wounded  souls.  We  cannot  flatter  ourselves 
that  in  the  cold  realm  of  words  we  have  been  able  to 
give  any  idea  of  such  ethereal  odorous  flames.  In 
comparison  with  the  vivid  and  delicious  excitement 
produced  by  other  arts,  words  always  appear  poor, 


CHOPIN. 


151 


cold,  and  arid,  so  that  the  assertion  seems  just  :  "  that 
of  all  modes  of  expressing  sentiments,  words  are  the 
most  insufficient."  We  cannot  flatter  ourselves  w  ith 
having  attained  in  our  descriptions  the  exceeding 
delicacy  of  touch,  necessary  to  sketch  that  which 
Chopin  has  painted  with  hues  so  ethereal.  All  is 
subtle  in  his  compositions,  even  the  source  of  ex- 
citement, of  passion  ;  all  open,  frank,  primitive  im- 
pressions disappear  in  them  ;  before  they  meet  the 
eye,  they  have  passed  through  the  prism  of  an  exact- 
ing, ingenious,  and  fertile  imagination,  and  it  has 
become  difficult  if  not  impossible  to  resolve  them 
again  into  their  primal  elements.  Acutcness  of  dis- 
cernment is  required  to  understand,  delicacy  to 
describe  them.  In  seizing  such  refined  impressions 
with  the  keenest  discrimination,  in  embodying  them 
with  infinite  art,  Chopin  has  proved  himself  an  artist 
of  the  highest  order.  It  is  only  after  long  and  patient 
study,  after  having  pursued  his  sublimated  ideas 
through  their  multiform  ramifications,  that  we  learn 
to  admire  sufficiently,  to  comprehend  aright,  the 
genius  with  which  he  has  rendered  his  subtle  thoughts 
visible  and  palpable,  without  once  blunting  their 
edge,  or  ever  congealing  their  fiery  flow. 

lie  was  so  entirely  filled  with  the  sentiments  whose 
most  perfect  types  he  believed  he  had  known  in  his 
own  youth,  with  the  ideas  wiiich  it  alone  pleased  him 
to  confide  to  art  ;  he  contemplated  art  so  invariably 
from  the  same  point  of  view,  that  his  artistic  prefer- 
ences could  not  fail  to  be  influenced  by  his  early  im- 
pressions.   In  the  great  models  and  chefs-d'œuvre, 


152 


CHOPIN. 


he  only  sought  that  which  was  in  correspondence 
with  his  own  soul.  That  which  stood  in  relation  to 
it  pleased  him  ;  that  which  resembled  it  not,  scarcely 
obtained  justice  from  him.  Uniting  in  himself  the 
frequently  incompatible  qualities  of  passion  and  grace, 
he  possessed  great  accuracy  of  judgment,  and  pre- 
served himself  from  all  petty  partiality,  but  he  was 
but  slightly  attracted  by  the  greatest  beauties,  the 
highest  merits,  when  they  wounded  any  of  the  phases 
of  his  poetic  conceptions.  Notwithstanding  the  high 
admiration  which  he  entertained  for  the  works  of 
Beethoven,  certain  portions  of  them  always  seemed 
to  him  too  rudely  sculptured  ;  their  structure  was  too 
athletic  to  please  him,  their  w^rath  seemed  to  him  too 
tempestuous,  their  passion  too  overpowering,  the 
lion-marrow  which  fills  every  member  of  his  phases 
was  matter  too  substantial  for  his  tastes,  and  the 
Raphaîlic  and  Seraphic  profiles  which  are  wrought 
into  the  midst  of  the  nervous  and  powerful  creations 
of  this  great  genius,  were  to  him  almost  painful  from 
the  force  of  the  cutting  contrast  in  which  they  are 
frequently  set. 

In  spite  of  the  charm  which  he  acknowledged  in 
some  of  the  melodies  of  Schubert,  he  would  not 
willingly  listen  to  those  in  which  the  contours  were 
too  sharp  for  his  ear,  in  which  suffering  lies  naked, 
and  we  can  almost  feel  the  flesh  palpitate,  and  hear 
the  bones  crack  and  crash  under  the  rude  embrace 
of  sorrow.  All  savage  wildness  was  repulsive  to  him. 
In  music,  in  literature,  in  the  conduct  of  life,  all  that 
approached  the  melodramatic  was  painful  to  him. 


C  U  0  P  I  N. 


153 


The  frantic  and  despairing  aspects  of  exaggerated 
romanticism  were  repellent  to  him,  "he  could  not 
endure  the  struggling  for  wonderful  effects,  for  deli- 
cious excesses.  "He  loved  Shakspeare  only  under 
many  conditions.  He  thought  his  characters  were 
drawn  too  closely  to  the  life,  and  spoke  a  language 
too  true  ;  he  preferred  the  epic  and  lyric  syntheses 
which  leave  the  poor  details  of  humanity  in  the  shade. 
For  the  same  reason  he  spoke  little  and  listened  less, 
not  wisliing  to  give  expression  to  his  own  thoughts, 
or  to  receive  the  thouglits  of  others,  until  after  they 
had  attained  a  certain  dogrce  of  elevation." 

A  nature  so  completely  master  of  its-elf,  so  full  of 
delicate  reserve,  which  loved  to  divine  through 
glimpses,  presentiments,  suppositions,  all  that  had 
been  left  untold  (a  species  of  divination  always  dear 
to  poets  who  can  so  eloquently  finish  the  interrupted 
words)  must  have  felt  annoyed,  almost  scandalised, 
by  an  audacity  which  leaves  nothing  unexpressed, 
nothing  to  be  divined.  If  he  had  been  called  upon 
to  express  his  own  views  upon  this  subject,  we  believe 
he  would  have  confessed  that  in  accordance  with  his 
taste,  he  was  only  permitted  to  give  vent  to  his 
feelings  on  condition  of  suffering  much  to  remain 
unrevealed,  or  only  to  be  divined  under  the  rich  veils 
of  broidery  in  which  he  wound  his  emotions.  If  that 
which  they  agree  in  calling  classic  in  art  appeared 
to  him  too  full  of  methodical  restrictions,  if  he  re- 
fused to  permit  himself  to  be  garrotted  in  the 
manacles  and  frozen  in  the  conventions  of  systems, 
if  he  did  not  like  confinement  although  enclosed  in 


154 


CHOPIN 


the  safe  symmetry  of  a  gilded  cage,  it  was  not  because 
he  preferred  the  license  of  disorder,  the  confusion  of 
irregularity.  It  was  rather  that  he  might  soar  like 
the  lark  into  the  deep  blue  of  the  uncl'ouded  heavens. 
Like  the  Bird  of  Paradise,  which  it  was'once  thought 
never  slept  but  while  resting  upon  extended  wing, 
rocked  only  by  the  breath  of  unlimited  space  at  the 
sublime  height  at  which  it  reposed  ;  he  obstinately 
refused  to  descend  to  bury  himself  in  the  misty  gloom 
of  the  forests,  or  to  surround  himself  with  the 
bowlings  and  wailings  with  which  it  is  filled.  He 
would  not  leave  the  depths  of  azure  for  the  wastes 
of  the  desert,  or  attempt  to  fix  pathways  over  the 
treacherous  waves  of  sand,  which  the  winds,  in  ex- 
ulting irony,  delight  to  sweep  over  the  traces  of  the 
rash  mortal  seeking  to  mark  the  line  of  his  wandering 
through  the  drifting,  blinding  swells. 

That  style  of  Italian  art  which  is  so  open,  so  glar- 
ing, so  devoid  of  the  attraction  of  mystery  or  of 
science,  with  all  that  which  in  German  art  bears  the 
seal  of  vulgar,  though  powerful  energy,  was  distaste- 
ful to  him.  Apropos  of  Schubert  he  once  remarked  : 
"  that  the  sublime  is  desecrated  when  followed  by  the 
trivial  or  commonplace."  Among  the  composers  for 
the  piano  Hummel  was  one  of  the  authors  whom  he 
reread  with  the  most  pleasure.  Mozart  was  in  his 
eyes  the  ideal  type,  the  Poet  par  excellence,  because 
he,  less  rarely  than  any  other  author,  condescended 
to  descend  the  steps  leading  from  the  beautiful  to  the 
commonplace.  The  father  of  Mozart  after  having 
been  present  at  a  representation  of  Idoménée  made 


c  II  0  r  I X. 


155 


to  bis  son  the  followiijfç  reproach:  "You  have  been 
wrong  in  putting  in  it  nothing  for  the  long  ears."  It 
was  precisely  for  such  omissions  that  Chopin  admired 
him.  The  gayety  of  Papageno  charmed  him  ;  the 
love  of  Tamino  with  its  mysterious  trials  seemed  to 
him  worthy  of  having  occupied  Mozart  ;  he  under- 
stood the  vengeance  of  Donna  Anna  because  it  cast 
but  a  deeper  shade  upon  her  mourning.  Yet  such 
was  his  Sybaritism  of  purity,  his  dread  of  the  com- 
monplace, that  even  in  this  immortal  work  he  dis- 
covered some  passages  whose  introduction  we  have 
heard  him  regret.  His  worship  for  Mozart  was  not 
diminished  but  only  saddened  by  this.  He  could 
sometimes  forget  that  which  was  repulsive  to  him, 
but  to  reconcile  himself  to  it  was  impossible.  He 
seemed  to  be  governed  in  this  by  one  of  those  im- 
placable and  irrational  instincts,  which  no  persuasion, 
no  effort,  can  ever  conquer  sufficiently  to  obtain  a 
state  of  mere  indifference  toward  the  objects  of  the 
antipathy  ;  an  aversion  sometimes  so  insurmountable, 
that  we  can  only  account  for  it  by  supposing  it  to 
proceed  from  some  innate  and  peculiar  idiosyncrasy. 

After  he  had  finished  his  studies  in  harmony  with 
Professor  Joseph  Eisner,  who  taught  him  the  rarely 
known  and  difficult  task  of  being  exacting  towards 
himself,  and  placing  the  just  value  upon  the  advan- 
tages which  are  only  to  be  obtained  by  dint  of  patience 
and  labor  ;  and  after  he  had  finished  his  collegiate 
course,  it  was  the  desire  of  his  parents  that  he  should 
travel  in  order  that  he  might  become  familiar  with 
the  finest  works  under  the  advantage  of  their  perfect 
14 


156 


C  U  0  P  I  X. 


execution.  For  this  purpose  he  viîfited  many  of  the 
German  cities.  He  had  left  Warsaw  upon  one  of 
these  short  excursions,  when  the  revolution  of  the 
29th  of  Xovember  broke  out  in  1830. 

Forced  to  remain  in  Vienna,  he  was  heard  there  in 
some  concerts,  but  the  Viennese  public,  generally  so 
cultivated,  so  prompt  to  seize  the  most  delicate  shades 
of  execution,  the  finest  subtleties  of  thought,  during 
this  winter  were  disturbed  and  abstracted.  The  young 
artist  did  not  produce  there  the  effect  he  had  the 
right  to  anticipate.  He  left  Vienna  with  the  design 
of  going  to  London,  but  he  came  first  to  Paris,  where 
he  intended  to  remain  but  a  short  time.  Upon  his 
passport  drawn  up  for  England,  he  had  caused  to  be 
inserted:  "passing  through  Paris."  These  words 
sealed  his  fate.  Long  years  afterwards,  when  he 
seemed  not  only  acclimated,  but  naturalized  in  France, 
he  would  smilingly  say  :  I  am  "  passing  through 
Paris." 

He  gave  several  concerts  after  his  arrival  in  Paris, 
where  he  was  immediately  received  and  admired  in 
the  circles  of  the  elite,  as  well  as  welcomed  by  the 
young  artists.  We  remember  his  first  appearance  in 
the  saloons  of  Pleyel,  where  the  most  enthusiastic 
and  redoubled  applause  seemed  scarcely  sufficient  to 
express  our  enchantment  for  the  genius  which  had 
revealed  new  phases  of  poetic  feeling,  and  made  such 
happy  yet  bold  innovations  in  the  form  of  musical 
art. 

Unlike  the  greater  part  of  young  debutants,  he  was 
not  intoxicated  or  dazzled  for  a  moment  by  his  tri- 


CHOPIN. 


157 


umph,  but  accepted  it  without  pride  or  false  modesty, 
evincing  none^of  the  puerile  enjoyment  of  gratified 
vanity  exhibited  by  the  Parvenus  of  success.  His 
countrymen  who  were  then  in  Paris  gave  him  a  most 
affectionate  reception.  He  was  intimate  in  the  house 
of  Prince  Czartoryski,  of  the  Countess  Plater,  of 
Madame  de  Komar,  and  in  that  of  her  daughters, 
the  Princess  de  Beauveau  and  the  Countess  Delphine 
Potocka,  whose  beauty,  together  with  her  indescriba- 
ble and  spiritual  grace,  made  her  one  of  the  most 
admired  sovereigns  of  the  society  of  Paris.  He 
dedicated  to  her  his  second  Concerto,  which  contains 
the  Adagio  we  have  already  described.  The  ethereal 
beauty  of  the  Countess,  her  enchanting  voice  en- 
chained him  by  a  fascination  full  of  respectful  admira- 
tion. Her  voice  was  destined  to  be  the  last  which 
should  vibrate  upon  the  musician's  heart.  Perhaps 
the  sweetest  sounds  of  earth  accompanied  the  part- 
ing soul  until  they  blended  in  his  ear  with  the  first 
chords  of  the  angels'  lyres. 

He  mingled  much  with  the  Polish  circle  in  Paris  ; 
with  Orda  who  seemed  born  to  command  the  future, 
and  who  was  however  killed  in  Algiers  at  twenty 
years  of  age;  with  Counts  Plater,  Grzymala,  Os- 
trowski,  Szembeck,  with  Prince  Lubomirski,  etc.  etc. 
As  the  Polish  families  who  came  afterwards  to  Paris 
were  all  anxious  to  form  acquaintance  with  him,  he 
continued  to  mingle  principally  with  his  own  people. 
He  remained  through  them  not  only  au  courant 
of  all  that  was  passing  in  hfs  own  country,  but  even 
in  a  kind  of  musical  correspondence  with  it.  He 


158 


CHOPIN. 


liked  those  who  visited  Paris  to  show  him  the  airs  or 
new  songs  they  had  brought  with  them,  and  when 
the  words  of  these  airs  pleased  him,  he  frequently 
wrote  a  new  melody  for  them,  thus  popularizing 
them  rapidly  in  his  country  although  the  name  of 
their  author  was  often  unknown.  The  number  of 
these  melodies,  due  to  the  inspiration  of  the  heart 
alone,  having  become  considerable,  he  often  thought 
of  collecting  them  for  publication.  But  he  thought 
of  it  too  late,  and  they  remain  scattered  and  dis- 
persed, like  the  perfume  of  the  scented  flowers  bless- 
ing the  wilderness  and  sweetening  the  "  desert  air" 
around  some  wandering  traveller,  whom  chance  may 
have  led  upon  their  secluded  track.  During  our 
stay  in  Poland  we  heard  some  of  the  melodies  which 
are  attributed  to  him,  and  which  are  truly  worthy 
of  him  ;  but  who  would  now  dare  to  make  an  uncer- 
tain selection  between  the  inspirations  of  the  national 
poet,  and  the  dreams  of  his  people  ? 

Chopin  kept  for  a  long  time  aloof  from  the  celebri- 
ties of  Paris  ;  their  glittering  train  repelled  him.  As 
his  character  and  habits  had  more  true  originality 
than  apparent  eccentricity,  he  inspired  less  curiosity 
than  they  did.  Besides  he  had  sharp  repartees  for 
those  who  imprudently  wished  to  force  him  into  a 
display  of  his  musical  abilities.  Upon  one  occasion 
after  he  had  just  left  the  dining-room,  an  indiscreet 
host,  who  had  hud  the  simplicity  to  promise  his  guests 
some  piece  executed  by  him  as  a  rare  dessert,  pointed 
to  him  an  open  piano.  He  should  have  remembered 
that  in  counting  without  the  host,  it  is  necessary  to 


CHOPIN. 


159 


count  twice.  Chopin  at  first  refusc(3,  but  weaned  at 
last  by  continued  persecution,  assuming,  to  sharpen 
the  sting  of  his  words,  a  stifled  &uÂ  languid  tone  of 
voice,  he  exclaimed  :  *'  Ah,  sir,  I  have  scarcely 
dined!" 


CHAPTER  YII. 


Madame  Saud — Lelia — Visit  to  Majorca — Exclusive  Ideals. 

In  1836  Madame  Sand  had  not  only  published 
Indiana,  Valentine,  and  Jacques,  but  also  Lélia, 
that  prose  poem  of  which  she  afterwards  said:  "If 
I  regret  having  written  it,  it  is  because  I  could  not 
now  write  it.  "Were  I  in  the  same  state  of  mind  now 
as  when  it  was  written,  it  would  indeed  be  a  great 
consolation  to  me  to  be  able  to  commence  it."  The 
mere  painting  of  romances  in  cold  water  colors  must 
have  seemed,  without  doubt,  dull  to  Madame  Sand, 
after  having  handled  the  hammer  and  chisel  of  the 
sculptor  so  boldly,  in  modeling  the  grand  lines  of  that 
semi-colossal  statue,  in  cutting  those  sinewy  muscles, 
which  even  in  their  statuesque  immobility,  are  full  of 
bewildering  and  seductive  charm.  Should  we  con- 
tinue long  to  gaze  upon  it,  it  excites  the  most  pain- 
ful emotion.  In  strong  contrast  to  the  miracle  of 
Pygmalion,  Lelia  seems  a  living  Galatea,  rich  in 
feeling,  full  of  love,  whom  the  deeply  enamored  artist 
has  tried  to  bury  alive  in  his  exquisitely  sculptured 
marble,  stifling  the  palpitating  breath,  and  congeal- 
ing the  warm  blood  in  the  vain  hope  of  elevating  and 
immortalizing  the  beauty  he  adores.  In  the  presence 
of  this  vivid  nature  petrified  by  art,  we  cannot  feel 
that  admiration  is  kindled  into  love,  but,  saddened 
160 


c  n  0  p  I  X. 


ICI 


and  cliilled,  we  arc  forced  to  acknowledge  that  love 
may  be  frozen  into  mere  admiration. 

Brown  and  olive  hued  Lelia  !  Dark  as  Lara, 
despairing  as  Manfred,  rebellious  as  Cain,  tbou  bast 
ranged  through  the  depths  of  solitude  !  But  thou 
art  more  ferocious,  more  savage,  more  inconsolable 
than  they,  because  thou  hast  never  found  a  man's 
heart  sufTiciently  feminine  to  love  thee  as  they  were 
loved,  to  pay  the  homage  of  a  confiding  and  blind 
submission  to  thy  virile  charms,  to  offer  thee  a  mute 
yet  ardent  devotion,  to  suffer  its  obedience  to  be  pro- 
t  cted  by  tiiy  Amazonian  force!  "VVoman-hero  ! 
Like  the  Amazons,  thou  hast  been  valiant  and  eager 
for  combats  ;  like  them  thou  hast  not  feared  to  ex- 
pose the  exquisite  loveliness  of  thy  face  to  the  fierce- 
ness of  the  summer's  sun,  or  the  sharp  blasts  of 
winter  !  Thou  hast  hardenetf  thy  fragile  limbs  by 
the  endurance  of  fatigue,  thus  robbing  them  of  the 
subtle  power  of  their  weakness  !  Thou  hast  covered 
thy  palpitating  breast  with  a  heavy  cuirass,  which 
has  pressed  and  torn  it,  dyeing  its  snow  in  blood  ; — 
that  gentle  woman's  bosom,  charming  as  life,  discreet 
as  the  grave,  which  is  always  adored  by  man  when 
his  heart  is  permitted  to  form  its  sole,  its  impene 
trable  buckler  ! 

After  having  blunted  her  chisel  in  polishing  this 
statue,  which,  by  its  majesty,  its  haughty  disdain,  its 
look  of  hopeless  anguish,  shadowed  by  the  frowning 
of  the  pure  brows  and  by  the  long  loose  locks  shi- 
vering "with  electric  life,  reminds  us  of  those  antique 
cameos  on  which  we  still  admire  the  perfect  features, 


162 


CHOPIN. 


the  beautiful  yet  fatal  brow,  the  haughty  smile  of 
the  Medusa,  whose  gaze  paralyzed  and  stopped  the 
pulses  of  the  human  heart  ; — Madame  Sand  in 
vain  sought  another  form  for  the  expression  of  the 
emotions  which  tortured  her  insatiate  soul.  After 
having  draped  this  figure  with  the  highest  art,  accu- 
mulating every  species  of  masculine  greatness  upon 
it  in  order  to  compensate  for  the  highest  of  all  quali- 
ties which  she  repudiated  for  it,  the  grandeur  of 
"utter  self-abnegation  for  love,"  which  the  many- 
sided  poet  has  placed  in  the  empyrean  and  called 
"  the  Eternal  Feminine,"  [das  Ewigiueibh'che,) — a 
greatness  which  is  love  existing  before  any  of  its 
joys,  surviving  all  its  sorrows  ; — after  having  caused 
Don  Juan  to  be  cursed,  and  a  divine  hymn  to  be 
chanted  to  Desire  by  Lelia,  who,  as  well  as  Don 
Juan,  had  repulsed  the  only  delight  which  crowns 
desire,  the  luxury  of  self-abnegation, — after  having 
fully  revenged  Elvira  by  the  creation  of  Stenio, — 
after  having  scorned  man  n'lore  than  Don  Juan  had 
degraded  woman, — Madame  Sand,  in  her  Lettres 
d'un  voyageur,  depicts  the  shivering  palsy,  the  pain- 
ful lethargy  which  seizes  the  artist,  when,  having 
incorporated  the  emotion  which  inspired  him  in  his 
work,  his  imagination  still  remains  under  the  domi- 
nation of  the  insatiate  idea  without  being  able  to 
find  another  form  in  which  to  incarnate  it.  Such 
poetic  sufferings  were  well  understood  by  Byron, 
when  he  makes  Tasso  shed  his  most  bitter  tears,  not 
for  his  chains,  not  for  his  physical  suff'erings,  not 
for  the   ignominy  heaped  upon  him,  but  for  his 


C  II  O  P  I  X. 


163 


*  fiuislied  Epic,  for  the  ideal  world  created  by  his 
thought  aud  now  about  to  close  its  doors  upon  him, 
and  by  thus  expelling  him  from  its  enchanted  realm, 
rendering  him  at  last  sensible  of  the  gloomy  realities 
around  him  : — 

"  But  this  is  o'er — mv  pleasant  task  is  done  : — 
My  loug-su.stainiug  friend  of  many  years: 
If  I  do  blot  thy  final  page  with  tears, 
Know  that  my  sorrows  have  wrung  from  me  none. 
Bnt  thou,  my  young  creation  !  my  soul's  child  ! 
Which  ever  playing  round  me  came  and  smiled 
And  woo'd  me  from  myself  with  thy  sweet  sight, 
Thou  too  art  gone — aud  so  is  my  delight." 

Lament  of  Tasso. — Byrox. 

At  this  epoch,  Madame  Sand  often  heard  a  mu- 
sician, one  of  the  friends  who  had  greeted  Chopin 
with  the  most  enthusiastic  joy  upon  his  arrival  at 
Paris,  speak  of  him.  She  heard  him  praise  his 
poetic  genius  even  more  than  his  artistic  talent.  She 
was  acquainted  with  his  compositions,  and  admired 
their  graceful  tenderness.  She  was  struck  by  the 
amount  of  emotion  displayed  in  his  poems,  with  the 
effusions  of  a  heart  so  noble  and  diguified.  Some 
of  the  countrymen  of  Chopin  spoke  to  her  of  the . 
women  of  their  country,  with  the  enthusiasm  natural 
to  them  upon  that  subject,  an  enthusiasm  then  very 
much  increased  by  a  remembrance  of  the  sublime  sac- 
rifices made  by  them  during  the  last  war.  Through 
their  recitals  and  the  poetic  inspiration  of  the  Polish 
artist,  she  perceived  an  ideal  of  love  which  took  the 
form  of  worship  for  woman.  She  thought  that, 
guaranteed  from  dependence,  preserved  from  inferi- 


164 


C  H  0  P  I  X. 


ority,  her  role  might  be  like  the  fairj  power  of  the  ' 
Peri,  that  ethereal  iotelligence  and  friend  of  man. 
Perhaps  she  did  not  fully  understand  what  innumer- 
able links  of  suffering,  of  silence,  of  patience,  of  gen- 
tleness, of  indulgence,  of  courageous  perseverance, 
had  been  necessary  for  the  formation  of  the  worship 
for  this  imperious  but  resigned  ideal,  beautiful  in- 
deed, but  sad  to  behold,  like  those  plants  with  the 
rose-colored  corollas,  whose  stems,  intertwining  and 
interlacing  in  a  network  of  long  and  numerous 
branches,  give  life  to  ruins  ;  destined  ever  to  embel- 
lish decay,  growing  upon  old  walls  and  hiding  only 
tottering  stones  !  Beautiful  veils  woven  by  bene- 
ficent Nature,  in  her  ingenious  and  inexhaustible 
richness,  to  cover  the  constant  decay  of  human 
things  ! 

As  Madame  Sand  perceived  that  this  artist,  in 
place  of  giving  body  to  his  phantasy  in  porphyry  and 
marble,  or  defining  his  thoughts  by  the  creation  of 
massive  caryatides,  rather  effaced  the  contour  of  his 
works,  and,  had  it  been  necessary,  could  have  ele- 
vated his  architecture  itself  from  the  soil,  to  suspend 
it,  like  the  floating  palaces  of  the  Fata  Morgana,  in 
the  fleecy  clouds,  through  his  aerial  forms  of  almost 
impalpable  buoyancy,  she  was  more  and  more  at- 
tracted by  that  mystic  ideal  which  she  perceived 
glowing  within  them.  Though  her  arm  was  powerful 
enough  to  have  sculptured  the  round  shield,  her 
hand  was  delicate  enough  to  have  traced  those  light 
relievos  where  the  shadows  of  ineffaceable  profiles 
have  been  thrown  upon  and  trusted  to  a  stone 


CE  0  P  I  X. 


165 


scarcely  raised  from  its  level  plane.  She  was  no 
stranger  in  the  supernatural  world,  she  to  whom 
Nature,  as  to  a  favored  child,  had  unloosed  her  gir- 
dle and  unveiled  all  the  caprices,  the  attractions,  the 
delights,  which  she  can  lend  to  beauty.  She  was  not 
ignorant  of  the  lightest  graces  ;  she  whose  eye 
could  embrace  such  vast  proportions,  had  stooped 
to  study  the  glowing  illuminations  painted  upon  the 
wings  of  the  fragile  butterfly.  She  had  traced  the 
symmetrical  and  marvellous  network  which  the  fern 
extends  as  a  canopy  over  the  wood  strawberry  ;  she 
ha.d  listened  to  the  murmuring  of  streams  through 
the  long  reeds  and  stems  of  the  water-grass,  where  the 
hissing  of  the  "  amorous  viper"  may  be  heard;  she 
had  followed  the  wild  leaps  of  the  "VVill-with-a-whisp 
as  it  bounds  over  the  surface  of  the  meadows  and 
marshes  ;  she  had  pictured  to  herself  the  chimerical 
dwelling-places  toward  which  it  perfidiously  attracts 
the  benighted  traveller;  she  had  listened  to  the  con- 
certs given  by  the  Cicada  and  their  friends  in  the 
stubble  of  the  fields  ;  she  had  learned  the  names  of 
the  inhabitants  of  the  winged  republics  of  the  woods, 
which  she  could  distinguish  as  well  by  their  plumaged 
robes,  as  by  their  jeering  roulades  or  plaintive  cries. 
She  knew  the  secret  tenderness  of  the  lily  in  the 
splendor  of  its  tints  ;  she  had  listened  to  the  sighs 
of  Geneviève,*  the  maiden  enamored  of  flowers. 

She  was  Tisited  in  her  dreams  by  those  "  unknown 
friends"  who  came  to  rejoin  her  "  when  she  was  seized 
with  distress  upon  a  desolate  shore,"  brought  by  a 

*  A7)drc. 


166 


C  U  O  P  IN. 


"  rapid  stream  .  .  .  iu  a  large  and  full  bark  '  .  .  .  upou 
which  she  mounted  to  leave  the  unknown  shores,  "  the 
country  of  chimeras  which  make  real  life  appear  like 
a  dream  half  effaced  to  those,  who  enamored  from 
their  infancy  of  large  shells  of  pearl,  mount  them  to 
land  in  those  isles  where  all  are  young  and  beau- 
tiful .  .  .  where  the  men  and  women  are  crowned 
with  flowers,  with  their  long  locks  floating  upon  their 
shoulders  .  .  .  holding  vases  and  harps  of  a  strange 
form  .  .  .  having  songs  and  voices  not  of  this  world  .  .  . 
all  loving  each  other  equally  with  a  divine  love  .  .  . 
where  crystal  fountains  of  perfumed  waters  play  in 
basins  of  silver  .  ,  .  where  blue  roses  bloom  in  vases 
of  alabaster  .  .  ,  where  the  perspectives  are  all  en- 
chanted .  .  .  where  they  walk  with  naked  feet  upon 
the  thick  green  moss,  soft  as  carpets  of  velvet  .  .  . 
where  all  sing  as  they  wander  among  the  fragrant 
groves."* 

She  knew  these  unknown  friends  so  well  that  after 
having  again  seen  them,  "she  could  not  dream  of 
them  without  palpitations  of  the  heart  during  the 
whole  day."  She  was  initiated  into  the  Hofifmannic 
world — "she  who  had  surpri:sed  such  ineffable  smiles 
upon  the  portraits  of  the  dead;"t  who  had  seen  the 
rays  of  the  sun  falling  through  the  stained  glass  of  a 
Gothic  window  form  a  halo  round  loved  heads,  like 
the  arm  of  God,  luminous  and  impalpable,  surrounded 
by  a  vortex  of  atoms  ; — she  who  had  known  such 
glorious  apparitions,  clothed  with  the  purple  and 

*  Lettres  d'un  voyageur. 
t  Spiridion. 


C  H  O  P  I  X. 


167 


golden  glories  of  the  setting  sun.  The  realm  of  fan- 
tasy had  no  myth  with  whose  secret  she  was  not 
familiar  ! 

Thus  she  was  naturally  anxious  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  one  who  had  with  rapid  wing,  flown 
"  to  those  scenes  which  it  is  impossible  to  describe, 
but  which  must  exist  somewhere,  either  upon  the 
earth,  or  in  some  of  the  planets,  whose  light  w^e  love 
to  gaze- upon  in  the  forests  when  the  moon  has  set."* 
Such  scenes  she  had  prayed  never  to  be  forced  to 
desert — never  desiring  to  bring  her  heart  and  imagi- 
nation back  to  this  dreary  world,  too  like  the  gloomy 
coasts  of  Finland,  where  the  slime  and  miry  slough 
can  only  be  escaped  by  scaling  the  naked  granite  of 
the  solitary  rocks.  Fatigued  with  the  massive  statue 
she  had  sculptured,  the  Amazonian  Lelia;  wearied 
with  the  grandeur  of  an  Ideal  which  it  is  impossible 
to  mould  from  the  gross  materials  of  this  earth;  she 
was  desirous  to  form  an  acquaintance  with  the  artist 
"the  lover  of  an  impossible  so  shadowy" — so  near 
the  starry  regions.  Alas  !  if  these  regions  are  ex- 
empt from  the  poisonous  miasmas  of  our  atmosphere, 
they  are  not  free  from  its  desolating  melancholy  ! 
Perhaps  those  who  are  transported  there  may  adore 
the  shining  of  new  suns — but  there  are  others  not 
less  dear  whose  light  they  must  see  extinguished  ! 
Will  not  the  most  glorious  among  the  beloved  con- 
stellation of  the  Pleiades  there  disappear  ?  Like 
drops  of  luminous  dew  the  stars  fall  one  by  one  into 


*  Lettres  d'tin  voyageur. 

15 


163 


c  u  o  r  I X. 


the  nothingness  of  a  yawning  abyss,  whose  bottom- 
less depths  no  plummet  has  ever  sounded,  while  the 
soul,  contemplating  these  fields  of  ether,  this  blue 
Sahara  with  its  wandering  and  perishing  oases, — is 
stricken  by  a  grief  so  hopeless,  so  profound,  that 
neither  enthusiasm  or  love  can  ever  soothe  it  more. 
It  ingulfs  and  absorbs  all  emotions,  being  no  more 
agitated  by  them  than  the  sleeping  waters  of  some 
tranquil  lake,  reflecting  the  moving  images  thronging 
its  banks  from  its  polished  surface,  are  by  the  varied 
motions  and  eager  life  of  the  many  objects  mirrored 
upon  its  glassy  bosom.  The  drowsy  waters  cannot 
thus  be  wakened  from  their  icy  lethargy.  This  melan- 
choly saddens  even  the  highest  joy.  "Through  the 
eshaustioQ  always  accompanying  such  tension,  when 
the  soul  is  strained  above  the  region  which  it  natu- 
rally inhabits  .  .  .  the  iusuCBciency  of  speech  is  felt 
for  the  first  time  by  those  who  have  studied  it  so 
much,  and  used  it  so  well — we  are  borne  from  all 
active,  from  all  militant  instincts — to  travel  through 
boundless  space — to  be  lost  in  the  immensity  of  ad- 
venturous courses  far  far  above  the  clouds  .  .  . 
where  we  no  longer  see  that  the  earth  is  beautiful, 
because  our  gaze  is  riveted  upon  the  skies  .  .  . 
where  reality  is  no  longer  poetically  draped,  as  has 
been  so  skilfully  done  by  the  author  of  "Wavcrley, 
but  where,  in  idealizing  poetry  itself,  the  infinite  is 
peopled  with  the  spirits  belonging  only  to  its  mystic 
realm,  as  has  been  done  by  Byron  in  his  Manfred." 

Could  Madame  Sand  have  divined  the  incurable 
melancholy,  the  will  which  cannot  blend  with  that  of 


C  U  0  P  1  N. 


1C9 


others,  tl)e  imperious  exclusiveness,  which  invariably 
seize  upon  imaginations  delighting  in  the  pursuit  of 
dreams  whose  realities  are  nowhere  to  be  found,  or 
at  least  never  in  ihe  matter-of-fact  world  in  which 
the  dreamers  arc  constiained  to  dwell  ?  Had  she 
foreseen  the  form  which  devoted  attachment  assumes 
for  such  dreamers  ;  had  she  measured  the  entire  and 
absolute  absorption  which  they  will  alone  accept  as 
the  synonyme  of  tenderness  ?  It  is  necessary  to  be  in 
some  degree  shy,  shrinking,  and  secretive  as  they 
themselves  are,  to  be  able  to  understand  the  hidden 
depths  of  characters  so  concentrated.  Like  those 
susceptible  flowers  which  close  their  sensitive  petals 
before  the  first  breath  of  the  North  wind,  they  too 
veil  their  exacting  souls  in  the  shrouds  of  self  con- 
centration, unfolding  themselves  only  under  the  warm- 
ing rays  of  a  propitious  sun.  Such  natures  have  been 
called  "  rich  by  exclusiveness,"  in  opposition  to  those 
which  are  "  rich  by  expan^iveness."  '*  If  these  diflfering 
temperaments  should  meet  and  approach  each  other, 
they  can  never  mingle  or  melt  the  one  into  the  other," 
(says  the  writer  whom  we  have  so  ofteu  quoted)  "but 
the  one  must  consume  the  other,  leaving  nothing  but 
ashes  behind."  Alas  !  it  is  the  natures  like  that  of 
the  fragile  musician  whose  days  we  commemorate, 
•which,  consuming  themselves,  perish  ;  not  wishing, 
not  indeed  being  able  to  live  any  life  but  one  in  con- 
formity with  their  own  exclusive  Ideal. 

Chopin  seemed  to  dread  Madame  Sand  more  than 
any  other  woman,  the  modern  Sybil,  who,  like  the 
Pythoness  of  old,  had  said  so  many  things  that  others 


170 


CHOPIN. 


of  her  sex  neither  knew  nor  dared  to  say.  ITe 
avoided  and  put  off  all  introduction  to  her.  Madame 
Sand  was  ignorant  of  this.  In  consequence  of  that 
captivating  simplicity,  which  is  one  of  her  noblest 
charms,  she  did  not  divine  his  fear  of  the  Delphic 
priestess.  At  last  she  was  presented  to  him,  and  an 
acquaintance  with  her  soon  dissipated  the  prejudices 
which  he  had  obstinately  nourished  against  female 
authors. 

In  the  fall  of  1837,  Chopin  was  attacked  by  an 
alarming  illness,  which  left  him  almost  without  force 
to  support  life.  Dangerous  symptoms  forced  him  to 
go  South  to  avoid  the  rigor  of  winter.  Madame 
Sand,  always  so  watchful  over  those  whom  she  loved, 
so  full  of  compassion  for  their  sufferings,  would  not 
permit  him,  when  his  health  required  so  mach  care, 
to  set  out  alone,  and  determined  to  accompany  him. 
They  selected  the  island  of  Majorca  for  their  residence 
because  the  air  of  the  sea,  joined  to  the  mild  climate 
which  prevails  there,  is  especially  salubrious  for  those 
who  are  suffering  from  affections  of  the  lungs. 
Though  he  was  so  weak  when  he  left  Paris  that  we 
had  no  hope  of  his  ever  returning  ;  though  after  his 
arrival  in  Majorca  he  was  long  and  dangerously  ill  ; 
yet  so  much  was  he  benefited  by  the  change  that  his 
health  was  improved  during  several  years. 

Was  it  the  effect  of  the  balmy  climate  alone  which 
recalled  him  to  health  ?  Was  it  not  rather  because 
his  life  was  full  of  bliss  that  he  found  strength  to 
live?  Did  he  not  regain  strength  only  because  he 
now  wished  to  live?    Who  can  tell  how  far  the 


C  II  0  IM  N. 


171 


influence  of  tlie  will  extends  over  llie  body?  Who 
knows  what  internal  subtle  aroma  it  has  the  power 
of  disengaging  to  preserve  the  sinking  frame  from 
decay  ;  what  vital  force  it  can  breathe  into  the 
debilitated  organs  ?  Who  can  say  where  the  dominion 
of  mind  over  matter  ceases?  Who  knows  how  far 
our  senses  are  under  the  dominion  of  the  imagination, 
to  what  extent  their  powers  may  be  increased,  or 
their  extinction  accelerated,  by  its  influence?  It 
matters  not  how  the  imagination  gains  its  strange 
extension  of  power,  whether  through  long  and  bitter 
exercise,  or,  whether  spontaneously  collecting  its 
forgotten  strength,  it  concentrates  its  force  in  some 
new  and  decisive  moment  of  destiny:  as  when  the 
r-djs  of  the  sun  are  able  to  kindle  a  flame  of  celestial 
origin  when  concentrated  in  the  focus  of  the  burning 
glass,  brittle  and  fragile  though  the  medium  be. 

All  the  long  scattered  rays  of  happiness  were 
collected  within  this  epoch  of  the  life  of  Chopin  ;  is 
it  then  surprising  that  they  should  have  rekindled 
the  flame  of  life,  and  that  it  should  have  burned  at 
this  time  with  the  most  vivid  lustre  ?  The  solitude 
surrounded  by  the  blue  waves  of  the  ]\lediterranean 
and  shaded  by  groves  of  orange,  seemed  fitted  in  its 
exceeding  loveliness  for  the  ardent  vows  of  youthful 
lovers,  still  believing  in  their  naïve  and  sweet  illu- 
sions, sighing  for  happiness  in  ''some  desert  isle." 
He  breathed  there  that  air  for  which  natures  unsuited 
for  the  world,  and  never  feeling  themselves  happy  in 
it,  long  with  such  a  painful  honie-sickness  ;  that  air 
which  may  be  found  everywhere  if  we  can  find  the 


172 


CHOPIN. 


sympathetic  souls  to  breathe  it  with  us,  and  which  is 
to  be  met  nowhere  without  them  ;  that  air  of  the 
land  of  our  dreams  ;  and  which  in  spite  of  all  obstacles, 
of  the  bitter  real,  is  easily  discovered  when  sought 
by  two  !  It  is  the  air  of  the  country  of  the  ideal  to 
which  we  gladly  entice  the  being  we  cherish,  repeat- 
ing with  poor  Mignon  :  Dahin  I  daliin  I  .  .  .  lasst 
uns  zïehn  ! 

As  long  as  his  sickness  lasted,  Madame  Sand  never 
left  the  pillow  of  him  who  loved  her  even  to  death, 
with  an  attachment  which  in  losing  all  its  joys,  did 
not  lose  its  intensity,  which  remained  faithful  to  her 
even  after  all  its  memories  had  turned  to  pain  :  *'  for  it 
seemed  as  if  this  fragile  being  was  absorbed  and  con- 
sumed by  the  strength  of  his  affection  Others 

seek  happiness  in  their  attachments;  when  they  no 
longer  find  it,  the  attachment  gently  vanishes.  In 
this  they  resemble  the  rest  of  the  world.  But  he 
loved  for  the  sake  of  loving.  No  amount  of  suffering 
was  sufficient  to  discourage  him.  He  could  enter 
upon  a  new  phase,  that  of  woe;  but  the  phase  of 
coldness  he  could  never  arrive  at.  It  would  have 
been  indeed  a  phase  of  physical  agony — for  his  love 
was  his  life — and  delicious  or  bitter,  he  had  not  the 
power  of  withdrawing  himself  a  single  moment  from 
its  domination."*  Madame  Sand  never  ceased  to  be 
for  Chopin  that  being  of  magic  spells  who  had 
snatched  him  from  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
whose  power  had  changed  his  physical  agony  into  the 
delicious  languor  of  love. 

*  Lucrezia  Floriana 


C  U  O  P  I  N. 


173 


To  save  him  from  death,  to  bring  liim  back  to  life, 
she  struggled  courageously  with  his  disease.  She 
surrounded  him  with  those  divining  and  instinctive 
cares  which  are  a  thousand  times  more  efficacious 
than  the  material  remedies  known  to  science.  While 
engaged  in  nursing  him,  she  felt  no  fatigue,  no  weari- 
ness, no  discouragement.  Neither  her  strength,  nor 
lier  patience,  yielded  before  the  task.  Like  the 
mothers  in  robust  health,  who  appear  to  communicate 
a  part  of  their  own  strength  to  the  sickly  infants 
who,  constantly  requiring  their  care,  have  also  their 
preference,  she  nursed  the  precious  charge  into  new 
life.  The  disease  yielded:  "the  funereal  oppression 
which  secretly  undermined  the  spirit  of  Chopin, 
destroying  and  corroding  all  contentment,  gradually 
vanished.  He  permitted  the  amiable  character,  the 
cheerful  serenity  of  his  friend  to  chase  sad  thoughts 
and  mournful  presentiments  away,  and  to  breathe 
new  force  into  his  intellectual  being." 

Happiness  succeeded  to  gloomy  fears,  like  the 
gradual  progression  of  a  beautiful  day  after  a  night 
full  of  obscurity  and  terror,  when  so  dense  and  heavy 
is  the  vault  of  darkness  which  weighs  upon  us  from 
above,  that  we  are  prepared  for  a  sudden  and  fatal 
catastrophe,  we  do  not  even  dare  to  dream  of  deliver- 
ance, when  the  despairing  eye  suddenly  catches  a 
bright  spot  where  the  mists  clear,  and  the  clouds 
open  like  flocks  of  heavy  wool  yielding,  even  while 
the  edges  thicken  under  the  pressure  of  the  hand 
which  rends  them.  At  this  moment,  the  first  ray  of 
hope  penetrates  the  soul.    We  breathe  more  freely, 


174 


CHOPIN. 


like  those  who  lost  in  the  windings  of  a  dark  cavern 
at  last  think  they  see  a  light,  though  indeed  its  ex- 
istence is  still  doubtful.  This  faint  light  is  the  day 
dawn,  though  so  colorless  are  its  rays,  that  it  is  more 
like  the  extinction  of  the  dying  twilight, — the  fall  of 
the  night-shroud  upon  the  earth.  But  it  is  indeed 
the  dawn  ;  we  know  it  by  the  vivid  and  pure  breath 
of  the  young  zephyrs  which  it  sends  forth,  like  avant- 
coureurs,  to  bear  us  the  assurance  of  morn  and  safety. 
The  balm  of  flowers  fills  the  air,  like  the  thrilling  of 
an  encouraged  hope.  A  stray  bird  accidentally  com- 
mences his  song  earlier  than  usual,  it  soothes  the 
heart  like  a  distant  consolation,  and  is  accepted  as 
a  promise  for  the  future.  As  the  imperceptibly  pro- 
gressive but  sure  indications  multiply,  we  are  con- 
vinced that  in  this  struggle  of  light  and  darknesa  it 
is  the  shadows  of  night  which  are  to  yield.  Eaising 
our  eyes  to  the  Dome  of  lead  above  us,  we  feel  that 
it  weighs  less  heavily  upon  us,  that  it  has  already  lost 
its  fatal  stability. 

Little  by  little  the  long  gray  lines  of  light  increase, 
they  stretch  themselves  along  the  horizon  like  fissures 
into  a  brighter  world.  They  suddenly  enlarge,  they 
gain  upon  their  dark  boundaries,  now  they  break 
through  them,  as  the  waters  bounding  the  edge  of  a 
lake  inundate  in  irregular  pools  the  arid  banks. 
Then  a  fierce  opposition  begins,  banks  and  long  dikes 
accumulate  to  arrest  the  progress.  The  clouds  are 
piled  like  ridges  of  sand,  tossing  and  surging  to 
present  obstructions,  but  like  the  impetuous  raging 
of  irresistible  waters,  the  light  breaks  through  them, 


CHOPIN. 


175 


demolishes  them,  devours  them,  and  as  the  rays 
ascend,  the  rolling  waves  of  purple  mist  glow  into 
crimson.  At  this  moment  the  young  dawn  shines 
wilh  a  timid  yet  victorious  grace,  while  the  knee 
bends  in  admiration  and  gratitude  before  it,  for  the 
last  terror  has  vanished,  and  we  feel  as  if  new  born. 

Fresh  objects  strike  upon  the  view,  as  if  just 
called  from  chaos.  A  veil  of  uniform  rose-color 
covers  them  all,  but  as  the  light  augments  in  in- 
tensity, the  thin  gauze  drapes  and  folds  in  shades  of 
pale  carnation,  while  the  advancing  plains  grow  clear 
in  white  and  dazzling  splendor. 

'J'he  brilliant  sun  delays  no  longer  to  invade  the 
firmament,  gaining  new  glory  as  he  rises.  The 
vapors  surge  and  crowd  together,  rolling  themselves 
from  right  to  left,  like  the  heavy  drapery  of  a  curtain 
moved  by  the  wind.  Then  all  breathes,  moves,  lives, 
hums,  sings;  the  sounds  mingle,  cross,  meet,  and 
melt  into  each  other.  Inertia  gives  place  to  motion, 
it  spreads,  accelerates  and  circulates.  The  waves  of 
the  lake  undulate  and  swell  like  a  bosom  touched  by 
love.  The  tears  of  the  dew,  motionless  as  those  of 
tenderness,  grow  more  and  more  perceptible,  one 
after  another  they  are  seen  glittering  on  the  humid 
herbs,  diamonds  waiting  for  the  sun  to  paint  with 
rainbow-tints  their  vivid  scintillations.  The  gigantic 
fan  of  light  in  the  East  is  ever  opening  larger  and 
wider.  Spangles  of  silver,  borders  of  scarlet,  violet 
fringes,  bars  of  gold,  cover  it  with  fantastic  broidery. 
Light  bands  of  reddish  brown  feather  its  branches. 
The  brightest  scarlet  at  its  centre  has  the  glowing 


176 


CHOPIN. 


transparency  of  the  ruby;  shading  into  orange  like  a 
burning  coal,  it  widens  like  a  torch,  spreads  like  a 
bouquet  of  flames,  which  glows  and  glows  from  fervor 
to  fervor,  ever  more  incandescent. 

At  last  the  god  of  day  appears  !  His  blazing  front 
is  adorned  with  luminous  locks  of  long  floating  hair. 
Slowly  he  seems  to  rise — but  scarcely  has  he  fully 
unveiled  himself,  than  he  starts  forward,  disengages 
himself  from  all  around  him,  and,  leaving  the  earth 
far  below  him,  takes  instantaneous  possession  of  the 
vaulted  heavens  

The  memory  of  the  days,  passed  in  the  lovely  isle 
of  Majorca,  like  the  remembrance  of  an  entrancing 
ecstasy,  which  fate  grants  but  once  in  life  even  to  the 
most  favored  of  her  children,  remained  alwa3's  dear 
to  the  heart  of  Chopin.  "He*  was  no  longer  upon 
this  earth,  he  was  in  an  empyrean  of  golden  clouds 
and  perfumes,  his  imagination,  so  full  of  exquisite 
beauty,  seemed  engaged  in  a  monologue  with  God 
himself  ;  and  if  upon  the  radiant  prism  in  whose  con- 
templation he  forgot  all  else,  the  magic-lantern  of  the 
outer  world  would  even  cast  its  disturbing  shadow, 
he  felt  deeply  pained,  as  if  in  the  midst  of  a  sublime 
concert,  a  shrieking  old  woman  should  blend  her 
shrill  yet  broken  tones,  her  vulgar  musical  motivo, 
with  the  divine  thoughts  of  the  great  masters."  He 
always  spoke  of  this  period  with  deep  emotion, 
profound  gratitude,  as  if  its  happiness  had  been  suffi- 
cient for  a  life-time,  without  hoping  that  it  would 
ever  be  possible  again  to  find  a  felicity  in  which  the 

*  Lucrezia  Floriani. 


CHOPIN, 


177 


flight  of  time  was  only  marked  by  the  tenderness  of 
woman's  love,  and  the  brilliant  flashes  of  true  genius. 
Thus  did  the  clock  of  Linnaeus  mark  the  course  of 
time,  indicating  the  hours  by  the  successive  waking 
and  sleeping  of  the  flowers,  marking  each  by  a  dif- 
ferent perfume,  and  a  display  of  ever  varying  beauties, 
as  each  variegated  calix  opened  in  ever  changing  yet 
ever  lovely  form  ! 

The  beauties  of  the  countries  through  which  the 
Poet  and  Musician  travelled  together,  struck  with 
more  distinctness  the  imagination  of  the  former. 
The  loveliness  of  nature  impressed  Chopin  in  a 
manner  less  definite,  though  not  less  strong.  His 
soul  was  touched,  and  immediately  harmonized  with 
the  external  enchantment,  yet  his  intellect  did  not 
feel  the  necessity  of  analyzing  or  classifying  it.  His 
heart  vibrated  in  unison  with  the  exquisite  scenery 
around  him,  although  he  was  not  able  at  the  moment 
to  assign  the  precise  source  of  his  blissful  tranquillity. 
Like  a  true  musician,  he  was  satisfied  to  seize  the 
sentiment  of  the  scenes  he  visited,  while  he  seemed 
to  give  but  little  attention  to  the  plastic  material, 
the  picturesque  frame,  which  did  not  assimilate  with 
the  form  of  his  art,  nor  belong  to  his  more  spiritual- 
ized sphere.  However,  (a  fact  that  has  been  often 
remarked  in  organizations  such  as  his,)  as  he  was 
removed  in  time  and  distance  from  the  scenes  in 
which  emotion  had  obscured  his  senses,  as  the  clouds 
from  the  burning  incense  envelope  the  censor,  the 
more  vividly  the  forms  and  beauties  of  such  scenes 
stood  out  in  his  memory.    In  the  succeeding  years, 


178 


CHOPIN. 


he  frequently  spoke  of  them,  as  though  the  remem- 
brance was  full  of  pleasure  to  him.  But  when  so 
entirely  happy,  he  made  no  inventory  of  his  bliss. 
He  enjoyed  it  simply,  as  we  all  do  in  the  sweet  years 
of  childhood,  when  we  are  deeply  impressed  by  the 
scenery  surrounding  us  without  ever  thinking  of 
its  details,  yet  finding,  long  after,  the  exact  image  of 
each  object  in  our  memory,  though  we  are  only  able 
to  describe  its  forms  when  we  have  ceased  to  behold 
them. 

Besides,  why  should  he  have  tasked  himself  to 
scrutinize  the  beautiful  sites  in  Spain  which  formed 
the  appropriate  setting  of  his  poetic  happiness? 
Could  he  not  always  find  them  again  through  the 
descriptions  of  his  inspired  companion?  As  all  ob- 
jects, even  the  atmosphere  itself,  become  flame-co- 
lored when  seen  through  a  glass  dyed  in  crimson,  so 
he  might  contemplate  these  delicious  sites  in  the 
glowing  hues  cast  around  them  by  the  impassioned 
genius  of  the  woman  he  loved.  The  nurse  of  his  sick- 
room— was  she  not  also  a  great  artist?  Rare  and 
beautiful  union  !  If  to  the  depths  of  tenderness 
and  devotion,  in  which  the  true  and  irresistible  em- 
pire of  woman  must  commence,  and  deprived  of 
which  she  is  only  an  enigma  without  a  possible  solu- 
tion, nature  should  unite  the  most  brilliant  gifts  of 
genius, — the  miraculous  spectacle  of  the  Greek  fire 
would  be  renewed, — the  glittering  flames  would  again 
sport  over  the  abysses  of  the  ocean  without  being 
extinguished  or  submerged  in  the  chilling  depths, 
adding,  as  the  living  hues  were  throv/n  upon  the 


CHOPIN. 


179 


surging  waves,  the  glowing  dyes  of  the  purple  fire  to 
the  celestial  blue  of  the  heaven-reflecting  sea  ! 

Has  genius  ever  attained  that  utter  self-abnega- 
tion, that  sublime  humility  of  heart  which  gives  the 
power  to  make  those  strange  sacrifices  of  the  entire 
Past,  of  the  wliole  Future  ;  those  immolations,  as 
courageous  as  mysterious  ;  those  mystic  and  utter 
holocausts  of  self,  not  temporary  and  changing,  but 
monotonous  and  constant, — through  whose  might 
alone  tenderness  may  justly  claim  the  higher  name, 
devotion  ?  Has  not  the  force  of  genius  its  own  ex- 
clusive and  legitimate  exactions,  and  does  not  the 
force  of  woman  consist  in  the  abdication  of  all  exac- 
tions ?  Can  the  royal  purple  and  burning  flames  of 
genius  ever  float  upon  the  immaculate  azure  of  a 
woman's  destiny?  .  . . 


16 


CHAPTER  YIII. 


Disappoiutment — 111  Health— Visit  to  England — Devotion  of  Friends 
—Last  Sacraments— Delphine  Potocka— Louise— M.  Gutman— 
Death. 

From  the  date  of  1840,  the  health  of  Chopin, 
afifected  by  so  many  changes,  visibly  declined.  Dur- 
ing some  years,  his  most  tranquil  hours  were  spent 
at  Nohant,  where  he  seemed  to  suffer  less  than  else- 
w  here.  He  composed  there,  with  pleasure,  bringing 
with  him  every  year  to  Paris  several  new  composi- 
tions, but  every  winter  caused  him  an  increase  of 
sufifering.  Motion  became  at  first  difficult,  and  soon 
almost  impossible  to  him.  From  1846  to  1847,  he 
scarcely  walked  at  all  ;  he  could  not  ascend  the  stair- 
case without  the  most  painful  sensation  of  suffoca- 
tion, and  his  life  was  only  prolonged  through  con- 
tinual care  and  the  greatest  precaution. 

Towards  the  Spring  of  ]847,  as  his  health  grew 
more  precarious  from  day  to  day,  he  was  attacked 
by  aa  illness  from  which  it  was  thought  he  could 
never  recover.  He  was  saved  for  the  last  time  ;  but 
this  epoch  was  marked  by  an  event  so  agonizing  to  his 
heart  that  he  immediately  called  it  mortal.  Indeed, 
he  did  not  long  survive  the  rupture  of  his  friendship 
with  Madame  Sand,  which  took  place  at  this  date. 
Madame  de  Stael,  who,  in  spite  of  her  generous  and 
180 


CHOPIN. 


181 


impassioned  heart,  her  subtle  and  vivid  intellect,  fell 
sometimes  into  the  fault  of  making  her  sentences 
heavy  through  a  species  of  pedantry  which  robbed 
them  of  the  grace  of  ''abandon,"  remarked  on  one 
of  those  occasions  when  the  strength  of  her  feelings 
made  her  forget  the  solemnity  of  her  Genevese  stiff- 
ness :  "  In  affection,  there  are  only  beginnings  !" 
This  exclamation  was  based  upon  the  bitter  experi- 
ence of  the  insufficiency  of  the  human  heart  to  ac- 
complish the  beautiful  and  blissful  dreams  of  the 
imagination.  Ah  !  if  some  blessed  examples  of 
human  devotion  did  not  sometimes  occur  to  contra- 
dict the  melancholy  words  of  Madame  de  StUel, 
which  so  many  illustrious  as  well  as  obscure  facts 
seem  to  prove,  our  suspicions  might  lead  us  to  be 
guilty  of  much  ingratitude  and  want  of  trust  ;  we 
might  be  led  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  the  hearts 
which  surround  us,  and  see  but  the  allegorical  sym- 
bols of  human  affections  in  the  antique  train  of  the 
beautiful  Canephoroe,  who  carried  the  fragile  and 
perfumed  flowers  to  adorn  some  hapless  victim  for 
the  altar  ! 

Chopin  spoke  frequently  and  almost  by  preference 
of  Madame  Sand,  without  bitterness  or  recrimina- 
tion. Tears  always  filled  his  eyes  when  he  named 
her;  but  with  a  kind  of  bitter  sweetness  he  gave 
himself  up  to  the  memories  of  past  daj's,  alas,  now 
stripped  of  their  manifold  significance  !  In  spite  of 
the  many  subterfuges  emploved  by  his  friends  to 
entice  him  from  dwelling  upon  remembrances  which 
silways  brought  dangerous  cxcitcjnent  with  them,  he 


182 


CHOPIN. 


loved  to  return  to  them  ;  as  if  through  the  same 
feelings  which  had  once  reanimated  his  life,  he  now 
wished  to  destroy  it,  sedulously  stifling  its  powers 
through  the  vapor  of  this  subtle  poison.  His  last 
pleasure  seemed  to  l^e  the  memory  of  the  blasting  of 
his  last  hope  ;  he  treasured  the  bitter  knowledge  that 
under  this  fatal  spell  his  life  was  ebbing  fast  away. 
All  attempts  to  fix  his  attention  upon  other  objects 
were  made  in  vain,  he  refused  to  be  comforted  and 
would  constantly  speak  of  the  one  engrossing  subject. 
Even  if  he  had  ceased  to  speak  of  it,  would  he  not 
always  have  thought  of  it?  He  seemed  to  inhale 
the  poison  rapidly  and  eagerly,  that  he  might  thus 
shorten  the  time  in  which  he  would  be  forced  to 
breathe  it  ! 

Although  the  exceeding  fragility  of  his  physical 
constitution  might  not  have  allowed  hira.  under  any  cir- 
cumstances,  to  have  lingered  long  on  earth,  yet  at  least 
he  might  have  been  spared  the  bitter  sufferings  wliich 
clouded  his  last  hours  !  With  a  tender  and  ardent 
soul,  though  exacting  through  its  fastidiousness  and 
excessive  delicacy,  he  could  not  live  unless  surrounded 
by  the  radiant  phantoms  he  had  himself  evoked  ;  he 
could  not  expel  the  profound  sorrow  which  his  heart 
cherished  as  the  sole  remaining  fragment  of  the  happy 
past.  He  was  another  great  and  illustrious  victim 
to  the  transitory  attachments  occurring  between 
persons  of  different  character,  who,  experiencing  a 
surprise  full  of  delight  in  their  first  sudden  meeting, 
mistake  it  for  a  durable  feeling,  and  build  hopes  and 
illusions  upon  it  which  can  never  be  realized.    It  is 


CHOPIN. 


183 


always  the  nature  the  most  deeply  moved,  the  most 
absolute  in  its  hopes  and  attachments,  for  which  all 
transplantation  is  impossible,  which  is  destroyed  and 
ruined  in  the  painful  awakening  from  the  absorbing 
dream  !  Terrible  power  exercised  over  man  by  the 
most  exquisite  gifts  which  he  possesses  !  Like  the 
coursers  of  the  sun,  when  the  hand  of  Phaeton,  in 
place  of  guiding  their  beneficent  career,  permits 
them  to  wander  at  random,  disordering  the  beautiful 
structure  of  the  celestial  spheres,  they  bring  devasta- 
tion and  flames  in  their  train  !  Chopin  felt  and 
often  repeated  that  the  sundering  of  this  long 
friendship,  the  rupture  of  this  strong  tie,  broke  all 
the  chords  which  bound  him  to  life. 

During  this  attack  his  life  was  despaired  of  for 
several  days.  M.  Gutman,  his  most  distinguished 
pupil,  and  during  the  last  years  of  his  life,  his  most 
intimate  friend,  lavished  upon  him  every  proof  of 
tender  attachment.  His  cares,  his  attentions,  were 
the  most  agreeable  to  him.  With  the  timidity 
natural  to  invalids,  and  with  the  tender  delicacy 
peculiar  to  himself,  he  once  asked  the  Princess 
Czartoryska,  who  visited  him  every  day,  often  fearing 
that  on  the  morrow  he  would  no  longer  be  among  the 
living  :  if  Gutman  was  not  very  much  fatigued  ?  If 
she  thought  he  would  be  able  to  continue  his  care  of 
him  ;"  adding,  "  that  his  presence  was  dearer  to  him 
than  that  of  any  other  person."  His  convalescence 
was  very  slow  and  painful,  leaving  him  indeed  but  the 
semblance  of  life.  At  this  epoch  he  changed  so  much 
in  appearance  that  he  could  scarcely  be  recognized. 


184 


CHOPIN. 


The  next  summer  brought  him  that  deceptive  de- 
crease of  suffering  which  it  sometimes  grants  to 
those  who  are  dying.  He  refused  to  quit  Paris,  and 
thus  deprived  himself  of  the  pure  air  of  the  country, 
and  the  benefit  of  this  vivifying  element. 

The  winter  of  1847  to  1848  was  filled  with  a  painful 
and  continual  succession  of  improvements  and  re- 
lapses. Notwithstanding  this,  he  resolved  in  the 
Spring  to  accomplish  his  old  project  of  visiting  Lon- 
don. "When  the  revolution  of  February  broke  out, 
he  was  still  confined  to  bed,  but  with  a  melancholy 
effort,  he  seemed  to  try  to  interest  himself  in  the 
events  of  the  day,  and  spoke  of  them  more  than 
usual.  M.  Gutmau  continued  his  most  intimate 
and  constant  visitor.  He  accepted  through  prefer- 
ence his  cares  until  the  close  of  his  life. 

Feeling  better  in  the  month  of  April,  he  thought 
of  realizing  his  contemplated  journey,  of  visiting 
that  country  to  which  he  had  intended  to  go  when 
youth  and  life  opened  in  bright  perspective  before 
him.  He  set  out  for  England,  where  his  works  had 
already  found  an  intelligent  public,  and  were  gene- 
rally known  and  admired.*    He  left  France  in  that 

*  The  compositions  of  Chopm  were,  eveo  at  that  time,  kaown  and 
very  mnch  liked  in  EDjjland.  The  most  distinguished  virtuosi  fro- 
qnently  executed  them.  In  a  pamphlet  published  in  London  br 
Mefssrs.  Wessel  and  Stappleton,  under  the  title  of  An  Essay  pn  ths 
Works  of  F.  Chopin,  we  find  some  line.?  marked  by  just  criticism. 
The  epigraph  of  this  little  pamphlet  is  ingeniously  chosen,  and  the 
two  lines  from  Shelley  could  scarcely  be  better  applied  than  t« 
Chopin: 

"  He  was  a  mighty  poet^ — and 
A  subtld-sonled  Psychologist." 


CHOPIN. 


185 


mood  of  mind  which  the  English  call  "  low  spirits." 
The  transitory  interest  which  he  had  endeavored  to 
take  in  political  changes,  soon  disappeared.  He  be- 
came more  taciturn  than  ever.    If  through  absence 

The  antbcr  of  this  pamphlet  speaks  with  enthusiasm  of  the  "origi- 
native genius  untrammeled  by  conventionalities,  unfettered  by 
pedantry;  ...  of  the  outpourings  of  an  unworldly  and  tristful 
soul — those  musical  floods  of  tears,  and  gashes  of  pure  joyfulness 
— those  exquisite  embodiments  of  fugitive  thoughts — those  infini- 
tesimal delicacies,  which  give  so  much  value  to  the  lightest  sketch 
of  Chopin."  The  Euglish  author  again  says:  "One  thing  is  cer- 
tain, viz:  to  play  with  proper  feeling  and  correct  execution,  the 
Preludes  and  Studies  of  Chopin,  is  to  be  neither  more  nor  less  than 
a  finished  pianist,  and  moreover  to  comprehend  them  thoroughly, 
to  give  a  life  aud  tongue  to  their  infinite  and  most  eloquent  subtle- 
ties of  expression,  involves  the  necessity  of  being  in  no  less  a  degree 
a  poet,  than  a  pianist,  a  thinker  than  a  musician.  Commonplace  is 
instinctively  avoided  in  all  the  works  of  Chopin  ;  a  stale  cadence  or 
a  trite  progression,  a  humdrum  subject  or  a  hackneyed  sequence,  a 
vulgar  twist  of  the  melody  or  a  worn-out  passage,  a  meagre  har- 
mony or  an  unskillful  counterpoint,  may  in  vain  be  looked  for 
throughout  the  entire  range  of  hia  compositions;  the  prevailing 
characteristics  of  which,  are,  a  feeling  as  uncommon  as  beautiful, 
a  treatment  as  original  as  felicitous,  a  melody  aud  a  harmony  as 
new,  fresh,  vigorous,  and  striking,  as  they  are  utterly  unexpected 
and  out  of  the  common  track.  In  taking  up  one  of  the  works  of 
Chopin,  you  are  entering,  as  it  were,  a  fairyland,  untrodden  by 
human  footsteps,  a  path,  hitherto  unfrequented,  but  by  the  great 
composer  himself;  aud  a  faith,  a  devotion,  a  desire  to  appreciate 
and  a  determination  to  understand  are  absolutely  necessary,  to  do 
it  any  thing  like  adequate  justice.  .  ,  .  Chopin  in  his  Polonaises 
ajid  in  his  Mazourkas  has  aimed  at  those  characteristics,  which 
distinguish  the  national  music  of  his  country  so  markedly  from 
that  of  all  others,  that  quaint  idiosyncrasy,  that  identical  wildness 
and  fantasticality,  that  delicious  mingling  of  the  sad  and  cheerful, 
which  invariably  and  forcibly  individualize  the  music  of  those 
Northern  nations,  whose  language  delights  in  combinations  of  con- 
sonants. .  .  ." 


186 


C  II  O  P  I  X. 


of  miud,  a  few  words  would  escape  him,  tliey  were 
onlj  exclamations  of  regret.  His  affection  for  the 
limited  number  of  persons  whom  he  continued  to 
see,  was  filled  with  that  heart-rending  emotion  which 
precedes  eternal  farewells  !  Art  alone  always  re- 
tained its  absolute  power  over  him.  Music  absorbed 
him  during  the  time,  now  constantly  shortening,  in 
which  he  was  able  to  occupy  himself  with  it,  as  com- 
pletely as  during  the  days  when  he  was  full  of  life 
and  hope.  Before  he  left  Paris,  he  gave  a  concert 
in  the  saloon  of  M.  Pleyel,  one  of  the  friends  with 
whom  his  relations  had  been  the  most  constant,  the 
most  frequent,  and  the  most  affectionate;  who  is 
now  rendering  a  worthy  homage  to  his  memory,  oc- 
cupying himself  with  zeal  and  activity  in  the  execu- 
tion of  a  monument  for  his  tomb.  At  this  concert, 
his  chosen  and  faithful  audience  heard  him  for  the 
last  time  ! 

He  was  received  in  London  with  an  eagerness 
which  had  some  effect  in  aiding  him  to  shake  off  his 
sadness,  to  dissipate  his  mournful  depression.  Per- 
haj^s  he  dreamed,  by  burying  all  his  former  habits  in 
oblivion,  he  could  succeed  in  dissipating  his  melan- 
choly  !  He  neglected  the  prescriptions  of  his  physi 
cians,  with  all  the  precautions  which  reminded  him 
of  his  wretched  health.  He  played  twice  in  public, 
and  many  times  in  private  concerts.  He  mingled 
much  in  society,  sat  up  late  at  night,  and  exposed 
himself  to  considerable  fatigue,  without  permitting 
himself  to  be  deterred  by  any  consideration  for  his 
health. 


CHOPIN. 


187 


He  was  presented  to  the  Queen  by  the  Duchess 
of  Sutherland,  and  the  most  distinguished  society 
sought  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance.  He  went 
to  Edinburg,  where  the  climate  was  particularly  in- 
jurious to  him.  He  was  much  debilitated  upon  his 
return  from  Scotland  ;  his  physicians  wished  him  to 
leave  England  immediately,  but  he  delayed  for  some 
time  his  departure.  Who  can  read  the  feelings  which 
caused  this  delay  !  .  .  .  He  played  again  at  a  concert 
çiven  for  the  Poles.  It  was  the  last  mark  of  love  sent 
to  his  beloved  country — the  last  look — the  last  sigh 
— the  last  regret  !  He  was  feted,  applauded,  and 
surrounded  by  his  own  people.  He  bade  them  all 
adieu, — they  did  not  know  it  was  an  eternal  Fare- 
well !  What  thoughts  must  have  filled  his  sad  soul 
as  he  crossed  the  sea  to  return  to  Paris  !  That  Paris 
so  different  now  for  him  from  that  which  he  had 
found  without  seeking  in  1831! 

He  was  met  upon  his  arrival  by  a  surprise  as  pain- 
ful as  unexpected.  Dr.  Molin,  whose  advice  and 
intelligent  prescriptions  had  saved  his  life  in  the 
winter  of  1847,  to  whom  alone  he  believed  himself 
indebted  for  the  prolongation  of  his  life,  was  dead. 
]In  felt  his  loss  painfully,  nay,  it  brought  a  profound 
discouragement  with  it  ;  at  a  time  when  the  mind 
exercises  so  much  influence  over  the  progress  of  the 
disease,  he  persuaded  himself  that  no  one  could 
replace  the  trusted  physician,  and  he  had  no  confi- 
dence in  any  other.  Dissatisfied  with  them  all, 
witiiout  any  hope  from  their  skill,  he  changed  them 
<ionstantly,     A   kind   of  superstitious  depression 


188 


CHOPIN, 


seized  him.  No  tie  stronger  tlian  life,  no  love 
powerful  as  death,  came  now  to  struggle  against  this 
bitter  apathy!  From  the  winter  of  1848,  Chopin 
had  been  in  no  condition  to  labor  continuously.  From 
time  to  time  he  retouched  some  scattered  leaves, 
"without  succeeding  in  arranging  his  thoughts  in 
accordance  with  his  designs.  A  respectful  care  of 
his  fame  dictated  to  him  the  wish  that  these  sketches 
should  be  destroyed  to  prevent  the  possibility  of 
their  being  mutilated,  disfigured,  and  transformed  into 
posthumous  works  unworthy  of  his  hand. 

He  left  no  finished  manuscripts,  except  a  very  short 
Waltz,  and  a  last  Nocturne,  as  parting  memories.  In 
the  later  period  of  his  life  he  thought  of  writing  a  method 
for  the  Piano,  in  which  he  intended  to  give  his  ideasupon 
the  theory  and  technicality  of  his  art,  the  results  o'f  his 
long  and  patient  studies,  his  happy  innovations,  and 
his  intelligent  experience.  The  task  was  a  difficult 
one,  demanding  redoubled  application  even  from  one 
who  labored  as  assiduously  as  Chopin.  Perhaps  he 
wished  to  avoid  the  emotions  of  art,  (aff'ecting  those 
who  reproduce  them  in  serenity  of  soul  so  differently 
from  those  who  repeat  in  them  their  own  desolation 
of  heart,)  by  taking  refuge  in  a  region  so  barren. 
He  sought  in  this  employment  only  an  absorbing  and 
uniform  occupation,  he  only  asked  from  it  what  Man- 
fred demanded  in  vain  from  the  powers  of  magic  : 
"  forgetfulness  !"  Forgetful ness — granted  neither  by 
the  gayety  of  amusement,  nor  the  lethargy  of  torpor  Î 
On  the  contrary,  with  venomous  guile,  they  always 
compensate  in  the  renewed  intensity  of  woe,  for  the 


CHOPIN. 


189 


time  they  may  have  succeeded  iu  benumbing  it.  In 
the  daily  labor  which  "  charms  the  storms  of  the 
soul,"  {der  Scele  Sturm  hcschwort,)  he  sought  without 
doubt  forgetful n ess,  which  occupation,  by  rendering 
the  memory  torpid,  may  sometimes  procure,  though 
it  cannot  destroy  the  sense  of  pain.  At  the  close  of 
that  fine  elegy  which  he  names  "The  Ideal,"  a  poet, 
who  was  also  the  victim  of  an  inconsolable  melan- 
choly, appeals  to  labor  as  a  consolation  when  a  prey 
to  bitter  regret  ;  while  expecting  an  early  death,  he 
invokes  occupation  as  the  last  resource  against  the 
incessant  anguish  of  life  : 

"And  thou,  so  pleased,  with  her  uniting, 
To  charm  the  soul-storm  into  peace, 
Sweet  toil,  in  toil  itself  delighting 
That  more  it  labored,  less  could  cease. 
Though  hut  by  grains  thou  aidest  the  pile 
The  vast  eternity  uprears. 
At  least  thou  strikest  from  time  the  while 
Life's  debt — the  minutes — days — and  years." 

Bidioer^s  translation  o/Schillkk's  ^'Ideal.'* 

Beschœftigung,  die  nie  ermatict 

Die  langsam  schafft,  dock  nie  zerslœrt, 

Die  zu  dem  Bau  der  Ewiykaiten 

Zwar  Sandkorn  nur,  fuer  Sandko7-n  reicht, 

Dock  von  der  gmssen  Schidd  der  Zeiten 

MimUen,  Tage,  Jahre  streicht. 

Die  /tieaie— Schiller. 

The  strength  of  Chopin  was  not  suflBcient  for  the 
execution  of  his  intention.  The  occupation  was  too 
abstract,  too  fatiguing.  He  contemplated  the  form 
of  his  project,  he  spoke  of  it  at  different  times,  but 
its  execution  had  become  impossible.    He  wrote  but 


190 


CHOPIN. 


a  few  pages  of  it,  which  were  destroyed  with  the 
rest. 

At  last  the  disease  augmented  so  visibly,  that  the 
fears  of  his  friends  assumed  the  hue  of  despair.  He 
scarcely  ever  left  his  bed,  and  spoke  but  rarely.  His 
sister,  upon  receiving  this  intelligence,  came  from 
"Warsaw  to  take  her  place  at  his  pillow,  which  she 
left  no  more.  He  witnessed  the  anguish,  the  presen- 
timents, the  redoubled  sadness  around  him,  without 
showing  what  impression  they  made  upon  him.  He 
thought  of  death  with  Christian  calm  and  resignation, 
yet  he  did  not  cease  to  prepare  for  the  morrow.  The 
fancy  he  had  for  changing  his  residence  was  once 
more  manifested,  he  took  another  lodging,  disposed 
the  furnishing  of  it  anew,  and  occupied  himself  in  its 
most  minute  details.  As  he  had  taken  no  measures 
to  recall  the  orders  he  had  given  for  its  arrangement, 
they  were  transporting  his  furniture  to  the  apart- 
ments he  was  destined  never  to  inhabit,  upon  the 
very  day  of  his  death  ! 

Did  he  fear  that  death  would  not  fulfil  his  plighted 
promise  ?  Did  he  dread,  that  after  having  touched 
him  with  his  icy  hand,  he  would  still  suffer  him  to 
linger  upon  earth  ?  Did  he  feel  that  life  would  be 
almost  unendurable  with  its  fondest  ties  broken,  its 
closest  links  dissevered?  There  is  a  double  influence 
often  felt  by  gifted  temperaments  when  upon  the  eve 
of  some  event  which  is  to  decide  their  fate.  The 
eager  heart,  urged  on  by  a  desire  to  unravel  the 
mystic  secrets  of  the  unknown  Future,  contradicts  the 
colder,  the  more  timid  intellect,  which  fears  to  plunge 


C  U  0  P  I  X. 


191 


into  tlie  uncertain  abyss  of  the  coming  fate  !  This 
want  of  harmony  between  the  simultaneous  previsions 
of  the  mind  and  heart,  often  causes  the  firmest  spirits 
to  make  assertions  which  their  actions  seem  to  con- 
tradict; yet  actions  and  assertions  both  flow  from  the 
diffedug  sources  of  an  equal  conviction.  Did  Chopin 
suffer  from  this  inevitable  dissimilarity  between  the 
prophetic  whispers  of  the  heart,  and  the  thronging 
doubts  of  the  questioning  mind  ? 

From  week  to  week,  and  soon  from  day  to  day,  the 
cold  shadow  of  death  gained  upon  him.  His  end 
was  rapidly  approaching  ;  his  sufferings  became  more 
and  more  intense  ;  his  crises  grew  more  frequent,  and 
at  each  accelerated  occurrence,  resembled  more  and 
more  a  mortal  agony.  He  retained  his  presence  of 
mind,  his  vivid  will  upon  their  intermission,  until  the 
last  ;  neither  losing  the  precision  of  his  ideas,  nor  the 
clear  perception  of  his  intentions.  The  wishes  which 
he  expressed  in  his  short'moments  of  respite,  evinced 
the  calm  solemnity  with  which  he  contemplated  the 
approach  of  death.  He  desired  to  be  buried  by  the 
side  of  Bellini,  with  whom,  during  the  time  of  Bellini's 
residence  in  Paris,  he  had  been  intimately  acquainted. 
The  grave  of  Bellini  is  in  the  cemetery  of  Père  La- 
Chaise,  next  to  that  of  Cherubini.  The  desire  of 
forming  an  acquaintance  with  this  great  master  whom 
he  had  been  brought  up  to  admire,  was  one  of  the 
motives  which,  when  he  left  Vienna  in  1831  to  go  to 
London,  induced  him,  without  foreseeing  that  his 
destiny  would  fix  him  there,  to  pass  through  Paris.. 
Chopin  now  sleeps  between  Bellini  and  Cherubini, 
17 


192 


CHOPIN. 


men  of  very  dissimilar  genius,  and  yet  to  both  of 
whom  he  was  in  an  equal  degree  allied,  as  he  attached 
as  much  value  to  the  respect  he  felt  for  the  science 
of  the  one,  as  to  the  sympathy  he  acknowledged  for 
the  creations  of  the  other.  Like  the  author  of 
Korma,  he  was  full  of  melodic  feeling,  yet  he  was 
ambitious  of  attaining  the  harmonic  depth  of  the 
learned  old  master  ;  desiring  to  unite,  in  a  great  and 
elevated  style,  the  dreamy  vagueness  of  spontaneous 
emotion  with  the  erudition  of  the  most  consummate 
masters. 

Continuing  the  reserve  of  his  manners  to  the  very 
last,  he  did  not  request  to  see  any  one  for  the  last 
time  ;  but  he  evinced  the  most  touching  gratitude  to 
all  who  approached  him.  The  first  days  of  October 
left  neither  doubt  nor  hope.  The  fatal  moment  drew 
near.  The  next  day^  the  next  hour,  could  no  longer 
be  relied  upon.  M.  Gutman  and  his  sister  were  in 
constant  attendance  upon  him,  never  for  a  single  mo- 
ment leaving  him.  The  Countess  l>elphine  Potocka, 
who  was  then  absent  from  Paris,  returned  as  soon  as 
she  was  informed  of  his  imminent  danger.  None  of 
those  who  approached  the  dying  artist,  could  tear 
themselves  from  the  spectacle  of  this  great  and 
gifted  soul  in  its  hours  of  mortal  anguish. 

However  violent  or  frivolous  the  passions  may  be 
which  agitate  our  hearts,  whatever  strength  or  in- 
difference may  be  displayed  in  meeting  unforeseen  or 
sudden  accidents,  which  would  seem  necessarily  over- 
whelming in  their  effects,  it  is  impossible  to  escape 
the  impression  made  by  the  imposing  majesty  of  a 


CHOPIN. 


193 


lingering  and  beautiful  death,  whicli  touches,  softens, 
fascinates  and  elevates  even  the  souls  the  least 
prepared  for  such  holy  and  sublime  emotions.  The 
lingering  and  gradual  departure  of  one  among  us  for 
those  unknown  shores,  the  mysterious  solemnity  of 
his  secret  dreams,  his  commemoration  of  past  facts 
and  passing  ideas  when  still  breathing  upon  the  nar- 
row strait  which  separates  time  from  eternity,  affect 
us  more  deeply  than  any  thing  else  in  this  world. 
Sudden  catastrophes,  the  dreadful  alternations  forced 
upon  the  shuddering  fragile  ship,Hossed  like  a  toy 
by  the  wild  breath  of  the  tempest  ;  the  blood  of  the 
battle-field,  with  the  gloomy  smoke  of  artillery  ;  the 
horrible  charnel-house  into  which  our  own  habita- 
tion is  converted  by  a  contagious  plague;  conflagra- 
tions which  wrap  whole  cities  in  their  glittering 
flames  ;  fathomless  abysses  which  open  at  our  feet  ; — 
remove  us  less  sensibly  from  all  the  fleeting  attach- 
ments "  which  pass,  which  can  be  broken,  which 
cease,"  than  the  prolonged  view  of  a  soul  conscious 
of  its  own  position,  silently  contemplating  the  multi- 
form aspects  of  time  and  the  mute  door  of  eternity  ! 
The  courage,  the  resignation,  the  elevation,  the  emo- 
tion, which  reconcile  it  with  that  inevitable  dissolu- 
tion so  repugnant  to  all  our  instincts,  certainly 
impress  the  bystanders  more  profoundly  than  the 
most  frightful  catastrophes,  which,  in  thè  confusion 
they  create,  rob  the  scene  of  its  still  anguish,  its 
solemn  meditation. 

The  parlor  adjoining  the  chamber  of  Chopin  was 
constantly  occupied  by  some  of  his  friends,  who,  one 


194 


CHOPIN. 


by  one,  in  turn,  approached  him  to  receive  a  sign  of 
recognition,  a  look  of  affection,  when  he  was  no 
longer  able  to  address  them  in  words.  On  Sunday, 
the  15th  of  October,  his  attacks  were  more  violent 
and  more  frequent — lasting  for  several  hours  in  suc- 
cession. He  endured  them  with  patience  and  great 
strength  of  mind.  The  Countess  Delphine  Potocka, 
who  was  present,  was  much  distressed;  her  tears 
were  flowing  fast  when  he  observed  her  standing  at 
the  foot  of  his  bed,  tall,  slight,  draped  in  white,  re- 
sembling the  beautiful  angels  created  by  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  most  devout  among  the  painters.  "Without 
doubt,  he  supposed  her  to  be  a  celestial  apparition  ; 
and  when  the  crisis  left  him  a  moment  in  repose,  he 
requested  her  to  sing  ;  they  deemed  him  at  first 
seized  with  delirium,  but  he  eagerly  repeated  his 
request.  Who  could  have  ventured  to  oppose  his 
wish  ?  The  piano  was  rolled  from  his  parlor  to  the 
door  of  his  chamber,  while,  with  sobs  in  her  voice, 
and  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks,  his  gifted 
countrywoman  sang.  Certainly,  this  delightful  voice 
had  never  before  attained  an  expression  so  full  of 
profound  pathos.  He  seemed  to  suffer  less  as  he 
listened.  She  sang  that  famous  Canticle  to  the 
Virgin,  which,  it  is  said,  once  saved  the  life  of  Stra- 
della.  **  How  beautiful  it  is  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  My 
God,  how  very  beautiful  !  Again — again  !"  Though 
overwhelmed  with  emotion,  the  Countess  had  the 
noble  courage  to  comply  with  the  last  wish  of  a 
friend,  a  compatriot;  she  again  took  a  seat  at  the 
piano,  and  sung  a  hymn  from  Marcello.  Chopin 


CHOPIN. 


195 


again  feeling  worse,  everybody  was  seized  with  fright, 
— by  a  spontaneous  impulse  all  who  were  present 
threw  themselves  upon  their  knees — no  one  ventured 
to  speak  ;  the  sacred  silence  was  only  broken  by  the 
voice  of  the  Countess,  floating,  like  a  melody  from 
heaven,  above  the  sighs  and  sobs  which  formed  its 
heavy  and  mournful  earth-accompaniment.  It  was 
the  haunted  hour  of  twilight  ;  a  dying  light  lent  its 
mysterious  shadows  to  this  sad  scene — the  sister  of 
Chopin  prostrated  near  his  bed,  wept  and  prayed — 
and  never  quitted  this  attitude  of  supplication  while 
the  life  of  the  brother  she  had  so  cherished  lasted. 

His  condition  altered  for  the  worse  during  the 
night,  but  he  felt  more  tranquil  upon  Monday  morn- 
ing, and  as  if  he  had  known  in  advance  the  ap- 
pointed and  propitious  moment,  he  asked  to  receive 
immediately  the  last  sacraments.  In  the  absence  of  the 
Abbé  *  *  *^  with  whom  he  had  been  very  intimate 
since  their  common  expatriation,  he  requested  that  the 
Abbé  Jelowicki,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  men 
of  the  Polish  emigration,  should  be  sent  for.  When 
the  holy  Yiaticum  was  administered  to  him,  he  re- 
ceived it,  surrounded  by  those  who  loved  him,  with 
great  devotion.  He  called  his  friends  a  short  time 
afterwards,  one  by  one,  to  his  bedside,  to  give  each 
of  them  his  last  earnest  blessing  ;  calling  down  the 
grace  of  God  fervently  upon  themselves,  their  affec- 
tions, and  their  hopes, — every  knee  bent — every  heiid 
bowed— all  eyes  were  heavy  with  tears — every  heart 
was  sad  and  oppressed — every  soul  elevated. 
,  Attacks   more  and  more  painful,  returnod  and 


196 


CHOriN. 


continued  daring  Ibc  (lay  ;  from  Monday  nigbt  until 
Tuesilay,  he  did  not  alter  a  single  word.  He  did 
not  seem  able  to  distingoisb  the  persons  who  were 
around  him.  Aboat  eleven  o'clock  on  Tuesday  even- 
ing, be  appeared  toTevive  a  little.  The  Abbé  Jelo- 
wicki  had  never  left  him.  Hardly  had  he  recovered 
the  power  of  speech,  than  he  requested  him  to  recite 
with  him  the  prayers  and  litanies  for  the  dying.  He 
was  able  to  accompany  the  Abbé  in  an  audible  and 
intelligible  voice.  From  this  moment  until  his  death, 
he  held  his  head  constantly  supported  upon  the  shoul- 
der of  M.  Gutman,  who,  during  the  whole  course  of 
this  sickness,  had  devoted  his  days  and  nights  to  him. 

A  convulsive  sleep  lasted  until  the  ITth  of  Oc- 
tober, 1849.  The  final  agony  commenced  about 
two  o'clock  ;  a  cold  sweat  ran  profusely  from  his 
brow  ;  after  a  short  drowsiness,  he  asked,  in  a  voice 
scarcely  audible  :  "  Who  is  near  me  ?"  Being  an- 
swered, he  bent  his  head  to  kiss  the  hand  of  M.  Gut- 
man,  who  still  supported  it — while  giving  this  last 
tender  proof  of  love  and  gratitude,  the  soul  of  the 
artist  left  its  fragile  clay.  He  died  as  he  had  lived 
— in  loving. 

When  the  doors  of  the  parlor  were  opened,  his 
friends  threw  themselves  around  the  loved  corpse, 
not  able  to  suppress  the  gush  of  tears. 

His  love  for  flowers  being  well  known,  they  were 
brought  in  such  quantities  the  next  day,  that  the  bed 
in  which  they  had  placed  them,  and  indeed  the  whole 
room,  almost  disappeared,  hidden  by  their  varied  and 
brilliant  hues.    He  seemed  to  repose  in  a  gardeu  of 


CHOPIN. 


197 


roses,  nis  face  regained  its  early  beauty,  its  purity 
of  expression,  its  long  unwonted  serenity.  Calmly — 
with  his  youthful  loveliness,  so  long  dimmed  by  bitter 
suffering,  restored  by  death,  he  slept  among  the 
flowers  he  loved,  the  last  long  and  dreamless  sleep  ! 

M.  Clesinger  reproduced  the  delicate  traits,  to  which 
death  had  rendered  their  early  beauty,  in  a  sketch 
whicli  he  immediately  modeled,  and  which  he  after- 
wards executed  in  marble  for  his  tomb. 

The  respectful  admiration  which  Chopin  felt  for 
the  genius  of  Mozart,  had  induced  him  to  request  that 
his  Requiem  should  be  performed  at  his  obsequies  ; 
this  wish  was  complied  with.  The  funeral  cere- 
monies took  place  in  the  Madeleine  Church,  the  30th 
of  October,  1849.  They  had  been  delayed  until  this 
date,  in  order  that  the  execution  of  this  great  work 
should  be  worthy  of  the  master  and  his  disciple. 
The  principal  artists  in  Paris  were  anxious  to  take 
part  in  it.  The  Funeral  March  of  Chopin,  arranged 
for  the  instruments  for  this  occasion  by  M.  Reber, 
was  introduced  at  the  Introit.  At  the  Offertory,  M. 
Lefebure  Yély  executed  his  admirable  Preludes  in  si 
and  mi  minor  upon  the  organ.  The  solos  of  the 
Requiem  were  claimed  by  Madame  Yiardot  and 
Madame  Castellan.  Lablache,  who  had  sung  the 
Taba  Mirum  of  this  Requiem  at  the  burial  of 
Beethoven  in  1827,  again  sung  it  upon  this  occasion. 
M.  Meyerbeer,  with  Prince  Adam  Czartoryski,  led 
the  train  of  mourners.  The  pall  was  borne  by  M. 
Delacroix,  M.  Franchomme,  M.  Gutman,  and 
Prince  Alexander  Czartoryski. — 


198 


CHOPIN. 


However  insufiBcient  these  pages  may  be  to  speak 
of  Chopin  as  we  would  have  desired,  we  hope  that 
the  attraction  which  so  justly  surrounds  his  name, 
will  compensate  for  much  that  may  be  wanting  in 
them.  If  to  these  lines,  consecrated  to  the  com- 
memoration of  his  works  and  to  all  that  he  held  dear, 
which  the  sincere  esteem,  enthusiastic  regard,  and 
intense  sorrow  for  his  loss,  can  alone  gift  with  per- 
suasive and  sympathetic  power,  it  were  necessary  to 
add  some  of  the  thoughts  awakened  in  every  man  when 
death  robs  him  of  the  loved  cotemporaries  of  his 
youth,  thus  breaking  the  first  ties  linked  by  the  con- 
fiding and  deluded  heart  with  so  much  the  greater 
pain  if  they  w-ere  strong  enough  to  survive  that 
bright  period  of  young  life,  we  would  say  that  in 
the  same  year  we  have  lost  the  two  dearest  friends 
we  have  known  on  earth.  One  of  them  perished  in 
the  wild   course   of  civil  war.    Unfortunate  and 


CHOPIN. 


199 


valiant  hero  !  Ile  fell  with  his  burning  courage  un- 
subdued, his  intrepid  calmness  undisturbed,  his 
chivalric  temerity  unabated,  through  the  endurance 
of  the  horrible  tortures  of  a  fearful  death.  He  was 
a  Prince  of  rare  intelligence,  of  great  activity,  of 
eminent  faculties,  through  whose  veins  the  young 
blood  circulated  with  the  glittering  ardor  of  a  subtle 
gas.  By  his  own  indefatigable  energy  he  had  just 
succeeded  in  removing  the  difficulties  which  ob- 
structed his  path,  in  creating  an  arena  in  which  his 
faculties  might  have  displayed  themselves  with  as 
much  success  in  debates  and  the  management  of 
civil  affairs,  as  they  had  already  done  in  brilliant 
feats  in  arms.  The  other,  Chopin,  died  slowly,  con- 
suming himself  in  the  flames  of  his  own  genius.  His 
life,  unconnected  with  public  events,  was  like  some 
fact  which  has  never  been  incorporated  in  a  material 
body.  The  traces  of  his  existence  are  only  to  be 
found  in  the  works  which  he  has  left.  He  ended  his 
days  upon  a  foreign  soil,  which  he  never  considered 
as  his  country,  remaining  faithful  in  the  devotion  of 
his  affections  to  the  eternal  widowhood  of  his  own. 
He  was  a  Poet  of  a  mournful  soul,  full  of  reserve  and 
complicated  mystery,  and  familiar  with  the  stern  face 
of  sorrow. 

The  immediate  interest  which  we  felt  in  the 
movements  of  the  parties  to  which  the  life  of  Prince 
Felix  Lichnowsky  was  bound,  was  broken  by  his 
death  :  the  death  of  Chopin  has  robbed  us  of  all  the 
consolations  of  an  intelligent  and  comprehensive 
friendship.     The   affectionate   sympathy  with  out 


200 


CHOPIN. 


feelings,  with  our  manner  of  understanding  art,  of 
which  this  exclusive  artist  has  given  us  so  many 
proofs,  would  have  softened  the  disappointment  and 
weariness  which  yet  await  us,  and  have  strengthened 
us  in  our  earliest  tendencies,  confirmed  us  in  our 
first  essays. 

Since  it  has  fallen  to  our  lot  to  survive  them,  we 
wish  at  least  to  express  the  sincere  regret  we  feel  for 
their  loss.  We  deem  ourselves  bound  to  offer  the 
homage  of  our  deep  and  respectful  sorrow  upon  the 
grave  of  the  remarkable  musician  who  has  just 
passed  from  among  us.  Music  is  at  present  receiv- 
ing such  great  and  general  development,  that  it 
reminds  us  of  that  which  took  place  in  painting  in 
the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries.  Even  the 
artists  who  limited  the  productions  of  their  genius  to 
the  margins  of  parchments,  painted  its  miniatures  with 
an  inspiration  so  happy,  that  having  broken  through 
the  Byzantine  stififness,  they  left  the  most  exquisite 
types,  which  the  Francias,  the  Peruginos,  and  the 
Kaphaels  to  come  were  to  transport  to  their  frescos, 
and  introduce  upon  their  canvas. 


There  have  been  people  among  whom,  in  order  to 
preserve  the  memory  of  their  great  men  or  the 
signal  events  of  their  history,  it  was  the  custom  to 
form  pyramids  composted  of  the  stones  which  each 
passer-by  was  expected  to  bring  to  the  pile,  which 
gradually  increased  to  an  unlooked-for  height  from 
the  anonymous  contributions  of  all.    Monuments  are 


CHOPIN. 


201 


still  in  our  days  erected  by  an  analogous  proceeding, 
but  in  place  of  building  only  a  rude  and  unformed 
hillock,  in  consequence  of  a  fortunate  combination, 
the  contribution  of  all  concurs  in  tbe  creation  of 
some  work  of  art,  which  is  not  only  destined  to  per- 
petuate the  mute  remembrance  which  they  wish  to 
honor,  but  which  may  have  the  power  to  awaken  in 
future  ages  the  feelings  which  gave  birth  to  such 
creation,  the  emotions  of  the  cotemporaries  which 
called  it  into  being.  The  subscriptions  which  are 
opened  to  raise  statues  and  noble  memorials  to  those 
who  have  rendered  their  epoch  or  country  illustrious, 
originate  in  this  design.  Immediately  after  the  death 
of  Chopin,  M.  Camille  Pleyel  conceived  a  project 
of  this  kind,  fie  commenced  a  subscription,  (which 
conformably  to  the  general  expectation  rapidly 
amounted  to  a  considerable  sum,)  to  have  the  monu- 
ment modeled  by  M.  Clesinger,  executed  in  marble 
and  placed  in  the  Père  La-Ohaise.  In  thinking  over 
our  long  friendship  with  Chopin  ;  on  the  exceptional 
admiration  which  we  have  always  felt  for  him  ever 
since  his  appearance  in  the  musical  world  ;  remember- 
ing that,  artist  like  himself,  we  have  been  the  frequent 
interpreter  of  his  inspirations,  an  interpreter,  we  may 
safely  venture  to  say,  loved  and  chosen  by  himself  ; 
that  we  have  more  frequently  than  others  received 
from  his  own  lips  the  spirit  of  his  style  ;  that  we 
were  in  some  degree  identified  with  his  creations  in 
art,  and  with  the  feelings  which  he  confided  to  it, 
through  that  long  and  constant  assimilation  which 
obtains  between  a  writer  and  his  translator; — we 


202 


CHOPIN'. 


have  fondly  thought  that  these  connective  circum- 
stances imposed  upon  us  a  higher  and  nearer  duty 
than  that  of  merely  adding  an  unformed  and  anony- 
mous stone  to  the  growing  pyramid  of  homage  which 
his  cotemporaries  are  elevating  to  him.  We 
believed  that  the  claims  of  a  tender  friendship  for 
our  illustrious  colleague,  exacted  from  us  a  more 
particular  expression  of  our  profound  regret,  of  our 
high  admiration.  It  appeared  to  us  that  we  would 
not  be  true  to  ourselves,  did  we  not  court  the  honor 
of  inscribing  our  name,  our  deep  affliction,  upon  his 
sepulchral  stone  !  This  should  be  granted  to  those 
who  never  hope  to  fill  the  void  in  their  hearts  left 
by  an  irreparable  loss  !  .  ,  . 


FINIS. 


f 

T 


